SUNSHINE 
BEGGARS 


SIDNEY  M 


SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 


TRUTH  DEXTER 

RED  HORSE  HILL 

THE  BREATH  OF  THE  GODS 

THE  DRAGON  PAINTER 

ARIADNE  OF  ALLAN  WATER 

THE  STIRRUP  LATCH 

SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 


What  is  went  wrong  with  you,  dearie?  ': 
FRONTISPIECE.    See  page  4. 


BY 


SIDNEY  McCALL 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

WILLIAM  VAN  DRESSER 


BOSTON 

LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 
1918 


Copyright,  1918, 
BY  LITTLE,  BHOWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


Published,  February,  1918 


VAIL-BALLOU    COMPANY 

•  INBHAHTON  AND  NIW  YOU 
U.    S.    A. 


URL  ' 
SRLF 


TO 
SARAH  ELIZABETH  BISLAND 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

The  quotations  on  page  one  hundred  and  forty- 
eight  are  from  Katharine  Tynan  Hinkson's  beautiful 
poem,  "  Sheep  and  Lambs  "  in  The  Oxford  Book  of 
English  Verse. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  THE  HOUSEBOAT 1 

II  LADDIE'S  ISLAND 15 

III  ON  BIBLE  KOAD 27 

IV  ANNUNCIATA 35 

V    THE  BEETOLLOTTIS  SET  UP  HOUSEKEEP- 
ING       46 

VI  PHILOMEL  GIVES  A  PROMISE    ....     60 

VII    ANNUNCIATA'S  SECRET 75 

VIII  BREAKFAST  WITH  MA  COMFORT    ...     85 

IX  PHIL  Is  PUT  INTO  HARNESS    ....     99 

X    A  BROKEN  BRANCH 108 

XI  SAINT  CRISTOFO'S  FERRY    .     .     .     .     .119 

XII    SEEDTIME 127 

XIII  PHIL'S  FIRST  SUNDAY  IN  KINGTQN    .     .  139 

XIV  A  "  BLUE  MONDAY  "  SERMON  ....  151 
XV    GROWING  TIME 163 

XVI    THE  WATER-GARDEN 173 

XVII    THE  LITTLE  HOUSE  IN  BIBLE  KOAD    .     .  184 
XVIII    CRISTOFO'S  PROMISE  Is  KEPT  ....  196 

XIX    ANNUNCIATA  AND  "  THE  GOOD  KIND  MRS. 

HOPKINS  " 207 

XX    PHIL'S  PUNISHMENT  BEGINS  ....  219 
XXI    THE  DARKEST  HOUR  .  230 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII    THE  DAWN  OF  A  BRIGHTER  DAT   .     .  .242 

XXIII  PA  GIDDINGS  REMEMBERS  A  FRIEND  .  254 

XXIV  PHILOMEL  FINDS  A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER  .  268 
XXV    IN  WHICH  CONSTANTIA  GETS  EVEN    .  .  285 

FINALE    ,  .  300 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


4 '  What  is  went  wrong  with  you,  dearie  ?  ' ] 

Frontispiece 

She  saw  that  the  Bertollottis  had  paused  in 

their  eating  to  watch  her  ....     Page     59 

Phil  crouched  to  the  crack  of  the  door  .  ' '      235 

"Come,    Mother,  —  real    Mother, — let's 

run!  "  "      284 


SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 


CHAPTER  ONE 

THE    HOUSEBOAT 

"T  TOLY    Cats!     What's    that    comin' !  "    ex- 

JL  A  claimed  old  John  Giddings,  so  startled  that 
half  of  a  poised  mouthful  of  beans  scattered  down  to 
his  plate. 

His  fork  fell  with  a  bang.  John  jumped  to  his 
feet,  and  peered  out  through  a  curtained  window  not 
much  larger  than  a  big  school  geography. 

Mrs.  Giddings  immediately  followed,  moving 
more  slowly, —  for  the  good  Mrs.  Giddings  was  not 
thin, —  and  fitted  her  kindly,  pink  face  into  the 
square  of  a  similar  window,  not  six  feet  away. 

What  they  saw  was  a  slender,  childish  figure.  It 
wore  a  full  short  frock  of  black  and  white  gingham, 
and  over  this  had  been  drawn  a  sweater  of  dull  red, 
which  was  scant  as  if  from  many  washings.  A  red 
cap  to  match  was  hung  to  one  side  of  a  bright  blond 
head.  The  thin  little  legs  were  in  white  stockings; 
and  rather  worn  shoes  covered  the  swift  flying  feet. 

Beside  the  sobbing  girl  leaped  and  bounded  a  great 
collie  dog.  Both  were  racing  down  the  high  pier  as 
though  nothing  could  stop  them. 

The  room  in  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Giddings  had 


2  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

been  peacefully  eating  their  midday  dinner  was  the 
cabin  of  John's  old  river  boat,  The  Comfort,  now 
beached,  and  for  further  precautions  tied  by  ropes  to 
a  long-legged  wooden  pier. 

The  entire  establishment  still  shivered  and  rattled 
to  the  echo  of  footsteps  on  the  planks  at  its  side. 

"  Jumpin'  Jupiter !  "  cried  John,  and  dashed  for 
the  door.  "  The  whole  two  of  'em  '11  be  over  in  the 
water !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  let  'em,"  protested  Mrs.  Giddings, 
pushing  past  her  husband,  and  running  to  the  tiny 
front  deck  that  served  her  for  a  porch.  "  They 
mustn't!  Oh,  they're  most  to  the  end.  That  must 
be  a  mad  dog  that's  chasin'  her." 

"  No,  that  dog  don't  yelp  mad,  and  the  little  gal 
ain't  none  scared  of  him,  neether.  But  somethin' 
is  wrong.  No  child  o'  God,  in  this  Christian  land's 
got  a  right  to  be  cryin'  like  that." 

Mrs.  Giddings'  plump  hands  clasped  as  if  in 
prayer.  Her  lips  quivered.  In  another  moment,  she 
too  might  have  been  weeping  when,  all  at  once,  her 
face  brightened,  and  she  exclaimed,  "  It's  all  right, 
John!  Thank  Heaven  for  its  mercies!  She  won't 
git  to  the  water  now.  She's  fell  down  on  the  planks." 

Even  as  the  watcher  spoke,  the  slim,  young  figure 
at  the  end  of  the  wharf  leaned  over,  balanced  itself 
for  a  heart-catching  instant  above  the  waves  and  then, 
drawing  back,  flung  itself  face  downwards  on  the 
boards. 

The  great  tawny  collie,  amazed  at  this  sudden  check 
to  what  he  thought  a  merry  game,  stood  looking  down 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  3 

at  his  mistress,  his  huge  yellow  tail  at  half-mast  with 
perplexity.  Now  he  began  nosing  about  her  hair  and 
her  hidden  cheek,  but  no  response  was  given.  This 
was  beyond  endurance.  Something  must  be  very, 
very  wrong.  He  turned  his  slender,  aristocratic 
face  toward  the  shore  for  help,  and  seeing  old  John 
and  Ma  Giddings,  knew  in  his  loyal  dog-heart  that 
he  had  found  it. 

"  Yowp !     Yowp !  "  he  halloed. 

"  I'm  a-comin'.  I  was  comin'  anyhow,"  Ma 
called  back  to  him.  In  slippered  feet  she  climbed 
the  four  tiny  steps  leading  from  the  floor  of  the  deck 
to  the  pier  above.  It  swayed  and  shuddered  alarm- 
ingly. Mrs.  Giddings  always  moved  easily,  and 
even  with  a  certain  grace,  in  spite  of  her  wide  hips 
and  rounded  shoulders,  but  no  one  could  deny  to  Ma 
an  unusually  substantial  tread. 

"  Yowp !  Yowp !  "  repeated  the  collie,  now  in 
welcoming  delight.  His  fox  brush  of  a  tail  com- 
menced signaling  like  the  arms  of  a  sailor  in  the 
rigging,  as  he  talks  from  one  distant  ship  to  another. 
Again  the  dog  bent  down  to  nose  and  paw  his  mis- 
tress. He  was  striving,  oh,  so  hard,  to  tell  her  that 
a  human  friend  was  approaching. 

For  a  moment  the  convulsed  child  ignored  him. 
She  even  pushed  him  away.  Then  suddenly,  fling- 
ing both  arms  around  his  neck,  she  dragged  him 
down  beside  her  to  the  boards,  crying  out  names  of 
endearment,  and  covering  his  shaggy,  white  throat, 
his  ears,  and  his  long,  lean  cheeks  with  kisses. 

"  They  shan't  hurt  you,  Laddie !  "  her  vibrating 


4  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

voice  rang  out.  "  I  don't  care  what  you  did.  No- 
body shall  touch  you." 

Ma  deliberately  slackened  her  pace  to  listen. 

"  If  anybody  follows  us  and  tries  to  kill  you,  Lad- 
die, I'll  push  them  over  in  the  river  here  and  drown 
them.  I  don't  care  if  I  die  for  it.  You  shan't  be 
shot.  You're  my  dog  —  my  dog !  "  A  fresh  tor- 
rent of  tears,  followed  by  the  distressing  long,  dry 
sobs,  made  her  further  words  inaudible. 

Ma's  head  went  up.  A  snort  of  defiance  accom- 
panied the  gesture.  "  So  that's  it.  Somebody's 
threatenin'  to  kill  the  dog.  Well,  jest  let  'em  try 
it !  —  that's  what  I'm  sayin' ;  let  'em  try  it,  with  me 
an7  Pa  standin'  'round." 

Just  behind  Mrs.  Giddings  came  the  old  oyster 
man,  her  husband.  He  was  forcing  himself  to  walk 
slowly,  for  something  told  him  that  it  was  his  wife's 
part  to  reach  the  prostrate  figure  first. 

"  Now,  dearie,  you  mustn't  cry  like  that,"  began 
the  good  woman,  as  rather  heavily  she  lowered  her 
comfortable,  stout  body  to  its  knees,  and,  leaning 
over,  patted  a  thin  shoulder.  "  Try  to  set  up  an' 
stop  that  turrible  sobbin'.  It  jest  tears  poor  Granny 
Giddin's'  heart  to  hear  a  little  girl  cryin'  so  desper- 
ate as  you  is.  Set  up  a  mite,  dearie.  Here, 
Granny's  arm  is  under  you.  Let  her  wipe  the  poor, 
hot  forehead.  Why,  your  pretty  gold  hair  is  all 
stuck  to  your  cheeks,  an'  in  your  eyes  tight  as  cracks 
in  a  soup  plate.  There  —  there.  Now  I  can  see 
your  darlin'  little  face.  What  is  went  wrong  with 
you.  dearie  ? " 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  5 

"  She's  —  she's  going  to  kill  iny  dog.  She's  go- 
ing to  have  Laddie  shot.  She  said  so.  I  can't  bear 
it."  The  speaker  quivered  from  head  to  foot,  yet 
it  could  be  seen  that  she  was  making  a  brave  effort 
to  keep  back  a  new  outburst  of  weeping. 

"  An'  who's  she,  little  girl  ?  "  came  the  swift  query. 

"  She's  my  horrid  old  stepmother.  Oh,  she's 
mean !  "  cried  the  child. 

"  An'  what  mout  be  your  stepmother's  name  ? " 
demanded  Mrs.  Giddings  with  great  eagerness. 

But,  before  the  stranger  could  reply,  old  John, 
stooping  down,  gave  his  wife  a  quick  tap  on  the 
shoulder. 

She  looked  up  to  meet  a  warning  glance.  The 
oyster  man  shook  his  head  disapprovingly.  Ma 
knew  what  he  meant, —  that  it  was  no  time  to  press 
an  hysterical  child  with  questions. 

John  Giddings'  eyes  had  the  far  blue  look  of  dis- 
tant water.  His  thin,  wrinkled  face  was  not  unlike 
a  beach  of  corrugated  sands.  There  was  no  line  in 
that  weatherbeaten  countenance  that  was  not  a  line 
of  kindliness.  His  deepest  wrinkles  were  dry  river- 
beds of  smiles. 

After  awhile  the  little  girl,  hearing  no  voices, 
looked  up  from  Laddie's  tousled  fur.  As  it  chanced, 
she  met  fairly  the  old  sailor's  peaceful  gaze.  She 
stared  at  him  for  a  long  moment.  She  had  never 
seen  such  sea-blue  eyes  before. 

Ma  Giddings  put  out  a  caressing  hand,  and 
straightened  the  red  tam-o'  shanter. 

The  child  now  sat  up  and  looked  wonderingly 


6  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

about.  Whatever  lash  and  scourge  of  personal  grief 
had  driven  her  to  the  water's  edge,  this  fact  re- 
mained, that  for  the  first  time  in  all  of  her  life,  she 
was  looking  upon  the  sea. 

"  What  —  what  is  it !  "  she  asked  of  John  breath- 
lessly. "  I  never  saw  a  river  that  was  so  big  and 
round,  and  had  white  edges." 

"  This  ain't  no  river,"  smiled  John.  "  It's  a  bay. 
As  a  matter  o'  fact,  they  is  a  big  shiny  river  runs 
into  it  a  mile  down  the  beach.  But  what  you  is 
lookin'  on  now  is  Hope  Bay,  a  piece  bit  out  o'  the 
side  o'  the  Atlantic." 

"  Oh,  I  remember,"  exclaimed  the  little  girl,  "  I've 
studied  all  about  the  Atlantic  ocean,  and  the  Pacific 
one  too.  But  I  didn't  know  —  I  hadn't  expected  — 
all  of  a  sudden  like  this  — "  she  flung  her  hands  out 
toward  the  exquisite  picture.  Its  beauty  deprived 
her  of  speech. 

John  nodded  in  sympathy.  "  It  mus'  be  a  queer 
feelin' —  a  feel  in'  as  if  your  heart  was  drownin'  in 
wonderment,  to  look  on  the  big  water  for  the  fust 
time.  I  was  born  on  it,  so  there  never  was  no  fust 
time  for  me." 

"  But  now,"  he  continued  in  a  more  practical 
tone,  "  jest  you  an'  Laddie  git  up  offer  them  hard 
planks.  Ma  Giddin's  an'  me  want  you  to  come 
make  us  a  visit  in  our  house.  That's  our  house,"  he 
explained,  pointing,  not  without  pride,  to  the  boat, 
which  under  its  many  coatings  of  snowy  paint 
gleamed  with  the  clear  whiteness  of  porcelain.  The 
doors  and  the  tiny  square  blinds  were  all  of  a  vivid 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  7 

green,  the  color  that  all  blinds  should  be,  and  the 
rail  of  the  small  front  deck  was  outlined  with  flower 
boxes  in  which  crowded  and  drooped  plants  of  ver- 
bena, petunia,  nasturtium,  and  grass  pinks.  None 
of  these  was  even  in  bud  as  yet  for,  though  May 
was  near,  the  April  winds  off  Hope  Bay  could  be 
chilly. 

Overhead,  from  the  outer  edge  of  the  roof,  swung 
five  big  turtle  shells  filled  with  mosses  and  ferns 
brought  by  Ma  from  the  woods. 

For  the  present,  and  until  the  spring  showers  and 
sunshine  were  to  set  all  of  the  boxes  to  blooming, 
the  Giddings'  odd  little  home  showed  a  cool  harmony 
of  green  and  white. 

Toward  it  the  group  of  three  now  moved  slowly, 
Mrs.  Giddings  talking  incessantly.  Her  young 
companion,  turning  around  for  a  new  look  at  the 
Bay,  unconsciously  shivered.  Ma  put  out  a  plump 
warm  arm,  and  drew  her  protectingly  close. 

"  Them  sea  winds  is  sharp  yit,"  Mrs.  Giddings 
remarked  in  a  tone  of  apology.  "  But  what  might 
be  your  name,  little  Miss;  you  ain't  told  us  so 
far?" 

"  My  name  is  Phil  Merrill,"  was  the  reply,  and 
from  her  manner  and  speech,  Ma  knew  instantly  that 
she  had  been  "  brung  up  all  right." 

Mrs.  Giddings  and  Pa  flashed  a  look  of  glad  un- 
derstanding over  the  tumbled  yellow  head,  and  Ma 
cried,  "  Jest  to  think  of  it !  Dear  Doctor  Merrill's 
little  girl!  I  had  heard  you  was  expected  home  to 
Kington,  Miss  Phil.  I  seen  it  in  the  Kington  Bugle- 


8  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Clarion  last  week,  when  they  printed  the  notice  of 
jour  poor  Grandma's  — " 

A  choking  sound  from  John  caused  Mrs.  Giddings 
to  bite  off  the  sinister  word  "  death  "  as  if  it  were  an 
icicle,  and  rush  in  with  the  new  question :  "  An' 
tell  us,  dearie,  when  did  you  git  to  Kington  ? " 

"  Oh,  yesterday,  I  b'lieve;  no,  it  was  the  day  be- 
fore yesterday.  I  hated  to  come." 

"  But  warn't  it  fine,"  put  in  old  John  cheerily, 
"that  you  could  bring  this  dog  o'  yourn  with  you? 
I  ain't  never  seen  a  handsomer  one." 

"It  was  all  I  could  bring  —  all  they'd  let  me," 
Phil  answered  drearily.  "  I  wanted  Cousin  "Betty, 
and  Mammy,  and  'Lijah,  and  —  yes,  and  Grandma 
too,  my  poor  Grandma  what's  dead.  Of  course  I 
knew  she  couldn't  come.  She  was  terribly  old, 
Grandma  was ;  she  just  sat  in  her  chair,  reading  the 
Bible  and  mending  things.  She  was  too  deaf  to  hear 
even  when  you  screamed  at  her,  so  we  had  to  write 
down  all  we  said  on  a  slate.  Grandma  says  that  I 
-am  going  to  have  the  handwriting  of  a  gentlewoman." 

"  I  ain't  got  no  manner  o'  doubt  of  it,  is  you, 
John  ?  "  returned  Mrs.  Giddings  agreeably.  "  But 
if  Grandma  was  deef,  like  you  say,  who  was  runnin' 
the  house  ? " 

"  Oh,  just  me  and  Laddie,  and  Cousin  Betty,  and 
the  servants." 

"  And  who  was  Cousin  Betty  ? "  shot  from  Ma, 
as  swift  as  a  pith-ball  from  a  popgun. 

"  She  was  my  teacher  —  my  governess,  I  mean. 
I  loved  her  lots,  but  not  as  much  as  Laddie. 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  9 

wanted  to  bring  her  to  Kington  with  me,  and  I 
wanted  Mammy  Jane  and  'Lijah." 

"  'Lijah!  "  echoed  Ma  to  whom  the  name  brought 
visions  of  a  Bible  patriarch  followed  by  a  flock  of 
ravens,  each  with  a  basket  of  modern  delicacies  in 
its  charitable  beak.  Even  John  looked  a  little  curi- 
ous. 

"Why,  yes,  'Lijah,"  the  child  repeated.  "He's 
Mammy  Jane's  boy  that  she's  always  going  to  bust 
open  with  a  flatiron." 

Ma  stood  perfectly  still.  She  began  to  quiver  like 
a  jelly  when  the  table  is  shaken.  Horror  overspread 
her  pleasant  countenance. 

"  Bust  open,"  she  gasped.  "  Bust  open  her  own 
child!" 

"Of  course  she  didn't  really  do  it,"  explained 
Philomel,  and  for  the  first  time  a  smile  flashed  into 
her  eyes.  It  was  as  if  vivid  green  grass  had  sprung 
up  where  a  moment  before  it  had  been  brown  and 
dead. 

"  She  never  even  thinks  she  is  going  to  bust  him 
open,"  added  Phil,  "  she  only  has  to  keep  on  saying 
it  to  make  'Lijah  mind.  He's  awful  trifling,  'Lijah 
is." 

"Well,  rip  my  seams!"  ejaculated  Pa. 

But  Mrs.  Giddings  shook  herself  a  little  impa- 
tiently. She  felt  that  quite  sufficient  interest,  not 
to  mention  time,  had  already  been  given  to  the 
dusky  and  distant  Elijah. 

"  Then  you've  come  back  to  Kington  for  good  and 
all,  Miss  Phil?" 


10  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  I  reckon  I  have,"  the  small  girl  answered  mourn- 
fully. "  Doctor  Burton  and  Cousin  Betty  said  there 
wasn't  any  other  place  for  me  to  go  to.  Doctor  Bur- 
ton was  our  minister,"  she  explained  quickly,  before 
Ma  could  thrust  in  the  inevitable  query :  "  And 
who  is  Doctor  Burton  ?  " 

Ma  winced,  and,  seeing  the  amusement  in  her 
husband's  blue  eyes,  threw  up  her  chin  defiantly. 

Fortunately  for  the  good  woman's  curiosity,  Phil 
went  on  without  further  prodding.  "  It  was  Doc- 
tor Burton  who  wrote  to  my  mother  here  in  Kington 
—  to  my  stepmother,  I  mean,"  she  corrected  herself, 
a  black  frown  driving  the  little  smile  away,  "  to 
ask  her  if  I  could  bring  Laddie.  At  first  she 
said  I  couldn't.  She  didn't  like  dogs,  and  she 
was  afraid  that  Laddie  would  bite  my  brother 
Edgar." 

"  Then  how  come  he's  here  ?  "  Mrs.  Giddings  ven- 
tured to  ask. 

"  It's  because,  when  they  told  me,  I  cried  so  much 
that  I  got  sick,  and  Doctor  Burton  and  Cousin  Betty 
wrote  to  her  again,  and  said  it  was  an  absolute  ner- 
ceserty  for  me  to  have  Laddie." 

"  An'  I  think  as  much !  "  bridled  Ma,  in  warm 
indignation.  "  Jest  the  idee  of  it,  John.  Them 
Merrills'  wantin'  to  hold  back  her  dog  from  this 
poor  lonely  lamb  —  with  her  Grandma  not  cold  in 
her  grave,  and  the  child  all  tore  up  in  her  move  to 
new  quarters.  Those  folks  ought  to  be  —  well,"  she 
broke  off,  before  the  husband  could  check  her,  "  I 
'spose  I  shouldn't  ought  to  be  sayin'  sech  things  'fore 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  11 

the  child,  but  I  know  you  feels  the  same,  jest  as  I 
do, —  now  don't  you,  husband  John  ?  " 

But  the  old  sailonnan  did  not  speak.  He  left 
most  of  that  to  his  wife.  His  kind  eyes  looked  out 
over  the  water.  Beyond  the  bright  waves  he  was 
seeing  a  picture  so  old  that  all  the  world  knows  it, — 
yet  having  a  quite  new  meaning  to  him  now,  with 
the  small  tear-stained  face  at  his  side. 

It  was  a  beautiful  figure  in  white  flowing  robes, 
leaning  down  to  a  group  of  wayside  children. 
"  Whosoever  offends  one  of  these,"  He  had  said. 

"  That  must  be  a  nice  man,  that  Doctor  Brayton 
o'  yours/'  Ma  suggested. 

"  Not  Brayton, —  Burton,"  corrected  Phil.  "  Yes, 
he  is  nice,  though  he  preached  awful  long  sermons. 
He  brought  me  to  Kington  himself.  Him  and  me 
put  Laddie  in  the  baggage  car,  and  every  time  the 
train  stopped  even  for  a  minute,  I  would  run  back 
to  Laddie  and  give  him  some  water  and  sand- 
wiches." 

By  this  time  the  small  party  had  reached  the  top 
of  the  absurd,  delightful  little  stairs  that  led  down 
to  the  deck. 

Ma  caught  both  handrails  and  began  the  descent. 
"  Come  on  down,  all  of  you,  includin'  Laddie,"  she 
commanded.  "  Pa's  got  to  finish  his  dinner.  He 
only  got  two  bites  when  we  was  startled  out  of  eatin' 
by  a  herd  o'  young  rhonicerouses  stampedin'  along 
our  pier.  Have  you  had  your  dinner  yit,  Miss 
Phil?" 

"  Yes  —  no.     I    don't    remember,    there    was    so 


12  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

much  fuss.  Yes'm,  I  do  remember  now,  I've  had 
it.  I  hate  my  stepmother's  cooking." 

"  Then  you  come  right  along  down  here,  an'  have 
a  bite  with  Pa.  I  never  yit  saw  a  child  that  couldn't 
eat  in  a  strange  place,  or  a  dog  that  wasn't  ready  for 
a  bone. 

"  Jest  look  at  that,"  Ma  continued  delightedly, 
pointing  to  a  transformed  and  eager  Laddie.  "  He 
knows  jest  as  well  as  us  humans  when  I  says  '  bone.' 
Bone,  Laddie,  bone.  Here,  don't  tear  me  to  pieces, 
or  push  me  down  my  own  steps.  I've  got  a  bone 
for  you, —  but  you  must  wait  till  I  gets  to  it.  He 
certainly  is  a  smart  critter." 

At  this  fateful  moment,  the  "  critter  "  in  a  fren- 
zied hurry  for  his  bone  (his  rations  at  Mrs.  Merrill's 
had  been  scanty),  and  impatient,  no  doubt,  at  the 
slowness  of  Mrs.  Giddings'  descent,  proved  himself 
almost  a  trifle  too  smart. 

With  his  delicate  head  high  in  air,  Laddie  meas- 
ured the  distance.  At  a  single  light  spring,  he 
leaped  clear  down  over  the  good  lady,  struck  all  four 
feet  at  once  in  the  center  of  the  deck,  and  wheeling 
about,  emitted  shrill  yelpings  and  short  barks,  as 
if  trying  to  say,  "  Hurry  up  —  oh,  you  giver  of 
"bones.  Don't  be  so  ridiculously  slow." 

Phil  laughed  loudly  in  delight  at  the  picture. 
"  Oh,  isn't  he  too  lovely !  "  she  exclaimed,  clasping 
her  hands.  "Just  look  at  him!  I  know  he  must 
be  the  most  beautifulest  dog  in  the  whole  world.  Do 
you  see  those  little  black  tips  to  his  ears,  Mr.  Gid- 
dings ?  And  the  round  black  spot  on  his  forehead  ?  " 


THE  HOUSEBOAT  13 

"  Yes,"  answered  Pa.  "  They're  kinder  queer- 
lookin'  spots.  I  already  noticed  'em." 

"  That's  from  the  way  Laddie  got  them.  Do  you 
know  how  he  got  them,  Mr.  Giddings  ? " 

"  No,"  rejoined  the  old  man  rather  slowly. 
"  Does  you  ?  " 

"Yes  —  that  is — 'Lijah  knows.  'Lijah  told  me 
that  when  Laddie  was  a  puppy,  before  I  got  him,  he 
met  a  little  black  baby  in  the  woods.  The  little  black 
boy  caught  Laddie  and  kissed  him  right  where  you 
see  the  spots, —  and  as  the  Lord  had  just  finished  the 
baby,  its  nigger-paint  wasn't  dry.  At  least,  that  is 
what  'Lijah  says." 

"  For  goodness'  sakes !  "  exclaimed  Pa,  staring 
down  with  flattering  intentness.  "  Who  ever'd  have 
guessed  it  ?  I  say,  little  friend,"  he  went  on,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  with  some  effort  from  Laddie's  myste- 
riously marked  countenance  to  that  of  his  smiling 
young  mistress,  "  that  black  boy  o'  yourn  —  that  Eli- 
jah—  he  must  know  a  whole  passel  o'  things." 

"  Oh,  he  does ;  'Lijah  does,"  Philomel  sparkled. 
"  And  specially  about  all  kinds  of  animals.  He 
calls  them  '  de  yannimuls,'  just  like  that,  'Lijah  does. 
He's  got  an  old  terrapin  that's  so  tame  that  when 
'Lijah  stoops  down  to  its  cave  and  calls  '  Turkic,  Sis 
Turkic,  rise  up,'  you  can  put  your  ear  down  to  the 
hole,  and  far,  far  away,  right  down  in  the  middle 
of  the  earth,  you  can  hear  old  Sis  Turkic  begin  claw- 
ing the  dirt." 

"  Well,  bust  my  binnacle,"  murmured  Pa ;  "  an' 
do  she  ever  come  up  ?  " 


14  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Do  she  ever!  "  scoffed  Phil.  "  She  do  always! 
Then  me  and  'Lijah  scratches  her  old  back  with  a 
stick,  and  gives  her  some  corn  bread,  and  she  likes 
it." 

Pa  Giddings  was  now  speechless. 

"  He  can  tame  birds  too,  'Lijah  can,"  pursued 
Phil,  highly  pleased  with  the  effect  she  was  pro- 
ducing. "He  tames  them  as  easy!  There's  a 
mocking  bird  always  following  him  around.  'Lijah 
taught  him  some  tunes, — '  Yankee  Doodle '  and 
t  Dixie.'  The  bird  whistles  them  all  of  the  week, 
but  on  Sundays — " 

Phil  paused.  The  old  man  sat  down  on  the  pier 
somewhat  abruptly. 

"  Go  on,  keep  right  on,"  he  said  faintly.  "  I  kin 
stan'  most  anythin'  now." 

"  Well,  'Lijah  says,"  Phil  continued,  "  of  course 
I  haven't  heard  this  part  my  own  self,  that  his  mock- 
ing bird  is  a  sancterfied  bird,  and  wants  to  jine  the 
Foot-washing  Baptists  like  Mammy  and  'Lijah.  So 
on  Sundays  he  won't  whistle  tunes  —  only  hymns. 
'  I  want  to  be  a  nangel '  is  his  favorite,  'Lijah  says." 

A  low  sound,  almost  a  moan,  came  up  from  the 
lowermost  stair. 

Ma  Giddings  arose  to  her  feet.  "  Come  in,  Lad- 
die, come,  good  doggie,"  she  said  in  an  awe-stricken 
voice.  "  Atter  that  we  both  of  us  needs  some  re- 
freshmint." 


CHAPTER  TWO 
LADDIE'S  ISLAND 


MRS.  GIDDINGS,  hard-pressed  and  impeded 
by  the  ecstatically  wriggling  Laddie,  finally 
managed  to  squeeze  him  and  herself  into  the  cabin 
door. 

Pa  still  sat  on  the  pier,  his  long  corduroy  legs 
hanging  down  over  the  front  steps,  as  Ma  persisted 
in  calling  them,  though  in  fact  they  belong  as  much 
to  one  side  of  the  deck  as  one's  ear  to  the  side  of 
one's  head. 

Philomel  remained  standing.  All  of  the  bright- 
ness had  left  her  face,  and  John  heard  a  deep  deso- 
late sigh. 

"  My  stepmother  said  they  might  kill  him, —  that 
they  might  have  to  shoot  my  Laddie.  If  Edgar  is 
badly  hurt,  the  doctor  would  do  it  because  I  b'lieve 
he  has  a  gun  just  for  shooting  dogs  that  have  bit 
children." 

The  words  were  spoken  aloud  but  not  so  much,  it 
would  seem,  to  Phil's  companion,  as  to  her  own  ter- 
rified self. 

John  put  out  one  hand,  and  drew  the  staring  child 
closer. 

"  Now  you  listen  to  me,  little  friend,"  he  began, 
speaking  slowly  and  tenderly.  u  That  father  o* 


16  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

yourn,  Doctor  Merrill,  was  one  of  the  best  friends 
me  an'  Ma  ever  had  in  all  our  lives.  He  treated  us, 
and  he  tended  us,  and  the  one  thing  he  said  me  nay 
to  was  sendin'  me  bills.  It  wasn't  jest  an  accident 
that  brought  you  and  Laddie  to  this  old  wharf  to- 
day. You  was  meant  to  come  to-day,  jest  as  I  was 
meant  to  look  out  for  you  and  Laddie,  and  to  take 
keer  o'  Laddie,  'till  the  rookus  at  your  Ma's  house 
has  settled  down." 

"  She  says  he  must  never  put  his  foot  in  her  yard 
again,"  Phil  broke  out.  "And  that  if  Edgar  is 
badly  hurt,  and  the  doctor  says  so,  Laddie  must  be 
shot.  Even  if  you  shut  Laddie  up  in  your  little 
house,  you  couldn't  do  anything  if  the  doctor  came 
after  him  with  a  gun,"  she  went  on,  with  one  of  her 
infrequent  gleams  of  what  Cousin  Betty  called 
"  commonsensicality." 

"  That's  true  enough,  and  you're  a  mighty  smart 
little  gal  to  figger  it  all  out.  How  old  is  you,  little 
Miss  ?  "  he  interrupted  himself  to  ask. 

"  I'm  ten,  going  on  to  eleven,"  Phil  replied  primly. 
The  word  eleven  was  spoken  with  an  air  of  mention- 
ing extreme  age. 

"  It's  amazin'  how  the  years  do  creep  over  us," 
commented  Pa  Giddings  gravely.  "But  as  we  was 
plannin'  about  Laddie.  Our  house  is  too  small  for 
him.  Any  house  is  too  small,  for  he  would  git  to 
howlin'  and  give  his  hidin'  place  away." 

"  Yes,"  sighed  Philomel,  "  he  does  howl.  What 
are  we  to  do  ?  " 

Old  John  drew  himself  upright.     "  This  is  what 


LADDIE'S  ISLAND  17 

we  are  to  do.  Here,  Miss  Phil,  put  your  head  down 
alongside  o'  mine." 

In  utter  astonishment  the  child  obeyed. 

"  Now  squint  right  a-down  this  narrow  pier,"  Pa 
ordered. 

"  I'm  squinting,"  Phil  declared. 

"  Now  'sposin'  you  shot  a  marble  straight  away, 
and  it  kep'  goin'  for  about  a  mile,  what  would  it 
hit  ? " 

"  Why,  it  ought  to  hit  that  little  round  bunch  of 
green  bushes  sticking  up  out  of  the  water." 

John  chuckled.  "  That  bunch  o'  bushes  is  a  tidy 
bit  of  a  island,  with  a  good  broad  beach,  a  spring  o' 
sweet  water,  and  a  lean-to  of  a  duck-shooter's  lodge. 
It's  my  island,"  he  added  impressively. 

Phil  was  prepared  to  believe  most  things  that 
grown-ups  told  her,  but  this  was  going  too  far.  The 
look  she  lifted  to  her  companion's  face  was  more 
than  doubtful. 

"It's  true,"  insisted  John.  "It's  my  own  prop- 
erty, bought  off  our  gover'mint  five  and  thirty  years 
ago." 

"  A  whole  island,"  whispered  Philomel  to  herself. 
Then  eagerly,  "  Is  it  a  treasure  island  ?  " 

The  old  man  smiled.  'All  islands  is  treasure 
islands  if  a  pusson  knows  where  to  dig.  To  be  hon- 
est," he  went  on,  "  I  ain't  never  done  any  diggin'  to 
speak  of  over  there.  I  only  used  it  for  shootin' 
ducks,  and  for  ten  years  o'  more,  I've  stopped  that 
sport,  on  account  of  not  bein'  willin'  to  kill  them 
when  they  was  enjoyin'  life.  But  it  begins  to  come 


18  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

to  me  now  that  maybe  you  and  me  an'  Laddie  is  yet 
to  discover  treasure  on  GiddinV  Island." 

"  Oh,  is  that  the  name  of  it  ?  "  asked  Phil,  looking 
disappointed. 

"  Not  fancy  enough  fer  a  treasure  place  ?  "  re- 
marked John.  "  Well,  now  what  do  you  say  to 
Laddie's  Island?" 

"Laddie's  Island,"  the  child  repeated.  Pa  Gid- 
dings'  eyes  were  dancing.  Each  one  of  his  thou- 
sand wrinkles  ran  with  molten  smiles.  In  a  flash 
his  meaning  came  to  her.  She  cried  again,  this 
time  with  delight,  "  Laddie's  Island !  Then  you  will 
take  him  over  there.  " 

John  nodded. 

"  Oh  —  oh  —  will  you  take  me  too,  " 

"  Not  the  first  time,  Miss  Phil.  He  might  try  to 
follow  you  in  the  water  an'  get  drownded.  I'd  bet- 
ter  carry  him  over  alone  to-day.  You  can  be  sure 
he'll  get  plenty  o'  food  stuff.  That's  Ma's  one  joy 
in  this  earthly  life, —  stuffin'  man  an'  beast  with 
more  vittles  than  they  can  reasonably  hold.  But  it 
makes  Ma  happy,  so  I  let  myself  get  stuffed." 

"  That's  what  'Lijah  used  to  do,"  confided  Philo- 
mel. u  He  stuffed  and  stuffed,  until  Mammy  Jane 
said  she  could  hear  his  skin  begin  to  split.  Ma  Gid- 
dings  would  have  liked  'Lijah,  wouldn't  she  ?  " 

"  Most  certain  sure  she  would,"  admitted  Pa,  his 
blue  eyes  twinkling.  "Well,  now,"  he  observed  in 
a  practical  tone,  "  sence  all  o'  the  arrangements  is 
tidied  up  for  Laddie,  'spose  we  be  steppin'  down  to 
the  house,  to  save  Ma  the  trouble  of  hollerin'  for  us." 


LADDIE'S  ISLAND  19 

Phil  smiled  and  nodded.  The  old  sailor  rose  a 
little  stiffly  from  his  hard  seat.  "  I've  been  pon- 
derin',"  he  remarked,  "  what  it  was  that  Laddie 
done,  anyway,  to  make  folks  want  to  harm  him." 

"  He  didn't  do  a  thing  but  snap  at  Edgar,"  cried 
Phil  protestingly.  "  I  don't  believe  he  was  hurt  one 
bit.  He  is  such  a  cry-baby,  that  he  bellows  if  you 
shake  your  finger  at  him.  Laddie  never  touched 
anybody  before,  but  Edgar  was  trying  to  cut  off  his 
tail  with  the  hedge  clippers.  Any  nice  dog  would 
try  and  bite  a  boy  who  was  chopping  at  his  tail  with 
the  hedge  clippers,  wouldn't  he  ?  " 

Pa  Giddings  instantly  agreed,  and  added,  "  I  know 
somethin'  about  your  little  brother  Edgar.  He's  got 
queer  notions  of  what's  funny.  Last  week  he  kicked 
over  a  pail  o'  opened  oysters  for  me,  and  he  nearly 
laughed  hisself  to  death." 

Philomel  clinched  her  small  fists  with  the  inten- 
sity of  her  indignation.  "  I  wish  Laddie  had  swal- 
lowed his  whole  hand.  I  wish  he  was  bleeding  all 
over.  He  is  the  meanest,  cruellest,  sneakiest,  tell- 
talest,  and  hatef ullest  boy !  " 

A  voice  came  from  the  boat-house  doorway. 
"Fie,  little  Miss.  I  couldn't  believe  that  was  you 
talkin'  so  ugly.  That  ain't  no  way  in  which  to  speak 
of  a  dog,  much  less  a  human  bein'." 

Phil's  yellow  head  hung  down.  "I'm  sorry.  I 
shouldn't  have  talked  that  way,"  she  murmured  con- 
tritely. "But  you  know  I  would  never  speak  of  a 
dog  like  that." 

John  suddenly  put  his  hand  before  his  mouth. 


20  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Under  its  screen,  he  had  a  brief  peculiar  attack  of 
coughing.  It  was  Ma's  turn  to  send  the  warning 
look. 

At  last  the  Giddings'  visitor  stood  in  the  doorway. 
It  was  so  low  that  Pa's  gray  head  had  to  stoop  in 
clearing  it,  and  so  narrow  that  Ma  had  to  draw  her- 
self in,  as  if  she  were  buttoning  herself  into  a  scanty 
jacket,  before  she  could  pass. 

"  Oh,  what  a  darling  house !  "  Philomel  exclaimed, 
her  eyes  traveling  from  the  low,  white-paneled  ceil- 
ing of  the  cabin  to  the  crimson  rug  beneath  the 
dinner  table,  and  then  more  slowly  about  the  four 
square  walls. 

To  be  quite  accurate,  there  were  no  walls  at  all, 
only  a  series  of  shelves.  Each  one  of  the  four  tiny 
muslin-curtained  windows  was  set  deep  into  shelves. 
And  upon  these  many  ledges, —  this  was  the  wonder 
that  kept  the  visitor's  blue  eyes  held  wide, —  were 
jars,  boxes,  tea  caddies,  strange  baskets  and  pots, 
with  carvings  of  ivory,  teakwood,  and  bone.  There 
were  Aztec  idols  from  Mexico,  and  walrus  tusks  from 
Alaska.  There  were  dolls,  fans,  fly  brushes,  dried 
palm  leaves,  great  shells,  whole  trees  of  coral,  queer 
pine  cones,  desiccated  starfish  —  in  fact,  all  of  the 
dreams  of  adventurous  childhood  seemed  encrusted 
and  visualized  on  Pa  and  Ma  Giddings'  unbelievable 
parlor  shelves. 

Back  of  this  cabin  and  the  gangway  was  the 
kitchen,  which  Pa  insisted  upon  calling  the  galley; 
and  at  either  side  of  the  wide-bottomed  old  boat  were 
cosy  little  bedrooms;  but  for  a  long  time  Phil  did 


LADDIE'S  ISLAND  21 

not  know  this,  and  used  to  imagine  Pa  and  Ma 
sleeping,  one  at  each  side  of  their  living  room  fire- 
place, upright  in  a  favorite  chair. 

Laddie,  at  the  sound  of  his  mistress'  voice,  came 
bounding  in.  Ma  followed  with  a  dish  of  beans, 
once  more  hot  and  steaming. 

"  That's  a  nice  dog  o'  yourn,  Miss  Phil,"  she  said, 
nodding  sideways  at  the  beautiful  animal.  "I 
never  is  yit  seen  a  dog  eat  quite  so  much." 

As  for  Phil,  she  was  too  excited  to  eat.  She  nib- 
bled at  a  rather  stale  cookie  that  Ma  had  found 
somewhere.  The  good  hostess  was  already  planning 
audibly  all  of  the  tarts  and  sweets  she  would  make, 
now  that  "  she  and  Pa  "  were  going  to  adopt  a  real 
little  granddaughter  of  their  own. 

"  Then  you  mustn't  call  me  *  Miss '  anything," 
observed  Phil  wisely.  "Real  grandmothers  never 
do." 

"  Now  the  Lord  love  that  baby  and  her  blue  gen- 
tian eyes,"  exclaimed  Ma.  "  Of  course,  there  won't 
be  no  Miss,  or  Mister,  or  Mrs.  You  is  our  dear 
little  Phil,  Laddie  is  our  Laddie,  and  we  is  Pa  and 
Ma  Giddin's,  for  now  and  always." 

This  important  compact  being  established,  Pa  an- 
nounced that  he  must  be  going  back  to  his  oyster 
and  fish  house,  to  get  out  some  of  his  "  orders  ",  be- 
fore rowing  Laddie  out  to  the  island. 

Phil  showed  no  disposition  to  leave  her  delightful 
friends.  Her  eyes  had  begun  to  roam  the  enticing 
cabin  shelves.  Laddie,  gorged  with  Ma's  bounty, 
lay  asleep  in  the  sunshine  near  the  door. 


22  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

At  that  moment,  Mrs.  Giddings  came  in  from 
the  kitchen,  wiping  her  hands  on  a  blue  and  white 
checked  apron.  Her  big,  kind  face  suggested  a 
hint  of  embarrassment.  "  Dearie,"  she  began  after 
seating  herself,  "you  know  Ma  loves  havin'  you 
here.  It's  better'n  a  big  bunch  of  posies  on  the 
center  table,  jest  seein'  you  acrost  over  there  in  Pa's 
chair,  lookin'  up  so  smilin'  and  sweet,  but  now  don't 
you  think  it  about  time  you  was  showin'  yo'sef  back 
to  home, —  before  your  folks  git  to  worryin'  ?  " 

The  child  tossed  herself  willfully.  "  There's  no- 
body to  worry,"  she  said.  "  Nobody  cares  where  I 
am,  one  bit.  They  don't  love  anybody  but  Edgar 
—  that  horrid  — " 

"  Tut  —  tut !  no  more  talkin*  like  that,"  Ma  re- 
minded her  guest. 

"  All  right,  then.  I  won't,  but  he  is,"  Phil  said 
the  last  words  under  her  breath.  Then  she  looked 
wistfully  about. 

"  It's  so  nice  here,  Ma  Comfort,"  she  pleaded, 
with  a  shy  upward  glance.  "  I  could  just  lay  down 
there  on  the  floor  and  go  to  sleep  like  my  Laddie. 
Isn't  Laddie  too  lovely  when  he's  asleep  ?  " 

She  slid  from  her  chair  and  knelt  by  the  motion- 
less dog.  Her  hands  crept  under  the  long-nosed, 
sensitive  face.  With  the  instinct  for  teasing  that 
all  children  have,  she  suddenly  let  it  fall.  It 
thumped  down  on  the  soft  rug,  as  heavy  and  inert  as 
the  head  of  a  bear-skin. 

"  You  see,"  said  Ma,  "  he's  so  sodden  with  sleep 
that  right  now's  the  time  for  you  to  slip  away. 


LADDIE'S  ISLAND  23 

When  you  git  well  out  of  the  house,  I'll  shut  the 
livin'  room  door  on  him." 

"  Oh,  I  do  hate  to  go,"  moaned  Phil.  "  It's  so 
nice  in  your  little  house,  and  so  funny  and  empty 
feeling  in  mine." 

"  That's  only  because  you  ain't  got  used  to  it, 
dearie,"  encouraged  Ma  Comfort,  with  a  smile. 

Philomel  shook  her  head.  "  I  never  can  get  used 
to  that  house.  They've  got  just  one  servant.  She's 
white,  named  Rebecca,  and  she's  the  Grossest  thing !  " 

"  Surely  she  haven't  had  a  call  yit  to  be  cross  to  a 
poor  lonely  lamb  like  you !  "  cried  Ma,  frowning. 

"  But  she  has,"  insisted  Phil.  "  Whenever  I  come 
near  her,  or  ask  what  she's  doing,  she  tells  me  '  to 
run  along  and  not  bother.'  But  when  Edgar  comes, 
she  looks  at  him  as  if  he  was  something  good  to 
eat." 

Ma's  frown  disappeared.  A  shrewd,  knowing  ex- 
pression shone  in  her  kindly  eyes.  She  was  begin- 
ning to  comprehend  the  real  cause  of  trouble.  Here 
were  two  children,  not  far  apart  in  years,  each  one 
heretofore  a  petted  ( grown-folks '  child,  thrown  sud- 
denly together.  Of  course  it  would  be  hard, —  hard 
for  both, —  and  yet  for  both  nothing  could  be  better. 
Also,  she  thought,  it  was  a  problem  that  must  work 
itself  out  without  too  much  interference  from  oth- 
ers. Putting  aside  the  question  of  Edgar,  she  said 
hopefully : 

"  Oh,  well,  when  you  git  a  little  better  acquainted 
in  the  village,  you  is  sure  to  find  a  girl  friend  to 
play  with.  A  whole  town  without  a  lot  o'  girls 


24  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

would  be  as  queer  as  a  summer  day  without  butter- 
flies." 

Phil's  face  lightened.  "  But  I  haven't  seen  even 
a  speck  of  a  little  girl/'  she  announced,  after  a  mo- 
ment of  rapid  thought,  discouragement  again  dark- 
ening her  vision. 

"  You  ain't  been  here  but  two  full  days.  Jest  you 
wait.  The  good  Father  always  sends  girls,  and  boys 
too,  the  things  they  need.  And  besides,"  she  added, 
leaning  forward  in  her  rocker,  "  you've  got  a  new 
home  and  a  fam'ly  to  come  to.  You  is  my  little  girl 
now,  and  Pa  Giddin'ses',  as  well  as  your  stepma's. 
You  can  come  to  us  every  day;  and  some  rainy 
mornin',  when  playin'  out  of  doors  isn't  good,  do 
you  know  what  we're  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

"  No,  oh,  what  ?  Ma,  tell  me  quick !  "  cried  Phil 
eagerly. 

"We'll  go  down  by  a  stepladder  into  my  store 
louse,"  promised  Ma.  "  John,  bein'  he's  a  sea-farin' 
man,  wants  to  call  it  the  hull,  but  I  sticks  to  my 
name  of  store  house.  Down  there  is  boxes  an'  bar- 
rels an'  corners,  and  more  shelves  than  they  is  in 
this  cabin,  an'  a  powerful  sight  more  of  queer  things 
on  them  shelves.  No,  dearie,  you  jest  be  good  and 
go  home  now,  like  Ma  wants  you, —  an'  I'll  turn  you 
square  loose  in  that  hull." 

Such  a  bribe  was  of  course  irresistible.  With  a 
murmured  "  I  wish  it  was  now,"  Phil  arose.  Once 
more  she  leaned  tenderly  over  Laddie,  then,  straight- 
ening her  slim  young  shoulders,  went  on  tiptoe  out 
of  the  door. 


LADDIE'S  ISLAND  25 

Ma  kissed  a  fat  hand  to  her,  and  nodded  encour- 
agement with  such  vigor  that  her  smiles  flew  like 
bright  drops  of  water  from  a  bird's  bath-tub. 

Alone,  Phil  climbed  the  four  steps  to  the  pier* 
Rather  slowly  she  walked  down  the  wharf,  her  feet 
at  the  level  with  the  cabin  windows.  It  was  hard  to 
keep  going.  With  increased  reluctance  she  was  pass- 
ing the  stern  of  the  boat,  when  she  heard  Ma  call  out : 

"  Miss  Phil  —  little  gran'darter  —  one  minute." 

Philomel  needed  no  urging  to  stop. 

From  the  galley  door  Ma  bustled  out.  Phil  looked 
down  right  on  her  head.  The  soft  brown  hair,  with 
scarcely  a  gray  thread  in  it,  was  parted  as  if  by  a 
ruler.  It  was  tightly  drawn  down  over  her  ears  and 
caught  at  the  back,  where  it  lay  in  twists  that  re- 
minded Phil  of  a  golden-brown  doughnut.  In  one 
hand  Ma  held  up  a  red  lacquered  box,  on  which  were 
quaint  Chinese  figures. 

"  I  jest  noticed  it.  I'd  forgot  that  I  had  it,"  she 
declared,  slightly  breathless  from  haste.  "  It's  can- 
died ginger.  I  thought  you  might  like  it  —  and, 
maybe,  your  stepma  and  Edgar  would  relish  some 
too." 

Phil  stooped  for  the  treasure,  but  at  Ma  Com- 
fort's suggestion  of  sharing  it,  she  laughed,  as  if  at  a 
joke. 

Ma's  face  sobered.  "What  you  laughin'  at, 
child  ? "  she  demanded.  "  I  ain't  aimin'  to  be 
funny.  I  meant  what  I  said  about  offerin'  some  to 
Edgar.  When  you  is  mad  with  a  person,  they 
ain't  no  way  of  workin'  it  out  so  quick  as  given'  them 


26  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

somethin'  to  eat.  You  jest  try  it.  An'  here  — 
don't  prance  away.  What  I  really  called  you  hack 
for  was  to  say  this,  and  you  try  to  remember.  It's 
every  bit  as  important  bein'  kind  to  folks  as  to  dogs. 
And  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  our  Father  in  Heaven 
looked  on  it  as  bein'  more  important.  Think  it  out 
on  your  way  home  —  little  darlin'.  Hope  the  gin- 
ger'll  taste  good !  Run  along  now,  until  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  THREE 

ON   BIBLE   ROAD 

THOROUGHLY  sobered  now  by  Ma's  reproof, 
Phil  walked  on  until  the  planks  of  the  pier, 
thrust  abruptly  into  an  up-tilting  sand  bank,  changed 
the  rasp  of  her  feet  over  boards  into  the  soundless 
shuffle  of  climbing.  She  needed  a  few  minutes  only 
in  which  to  gain  the  upper,  level  road.  A  signpost 
just  across  it  bore  the  name,  "  Beach  Avenue,  King- 
ton." 

The  sea  winds  still  fluttered  the  little  girl's  stiff 
gingham  skirt;  but  the  sun  overhead  poured  down 
a  glorious  warmth.  His  beams,  striking  full  on  the 
box  that  she  carried,  brought  out  flashes  of  scarlet 
and  gold.  The  humpbacked  small  figures  began  to 
dance. 

Almost  as  queer  as  these  figures,  Phil  thought, 
were  her  two  new  friends  in  their  little  boat-home  by 
the  pier.  She  had  never  seen  people  like  them  be- 
fore, nor  heard  the  kind  of  speech  that  they  used. 
Of  the  two,  she  felt  sure  she  liked  Pa  the  better. 
His  eyes  were  so  wonderfully  gentle  and  blue. 

There  was  something  about  "  Ma  Giddings  "  just  a 
trifle  too  compelling.  It  hinted  of  "  bossiness,"  and 
Philomel  did  not  like  being  "  bossed."  Mammy 
Jane  used  to  try  it,  calling  her  a  "  young  jage  " — 


28  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

whatever  that  was, —  and  chasing  her  out  of  the 
kitchen  with  a  rolling  pin.  But  one  always  laughed 
at  Mammy.  No  one  oheyed  her,  not  even  'Lijah. 

Those  parting  words,  for  instance,  spoken  in  Ma's 
decided  voice  as  she  held  the  ginger  box.  "  It's  jest 
as  important  bein'  kind  to  folks  as  it  is  to  dogs. 
Think  it  out  for  yourself,  little  granddaughter." 

Phil  tossed  her  bright  head  defiantly.  The  red 
tam-o'-shanter  slid  even  further  over  her  left  ear.  Of 
course  God  meant  people  to  be  kinder  to  other  people 
than  they  were  to  dogs,  even  if  dogs  were  so  much 
nicer.  She  hadn't  needed  Ma  Giddings  to  tell  her 
that.  Hadn't  she  been  brought  up  a  strict  "  Piscer- 
palian  ?  "  Didn't  she  and  Cousin  Betty  drive  nine 
miles  every  Sunday  of  their  lives,  just  to  go  to  Sun- 
day school  and  church?  Cousin  Betty  had  a  class 
in  Sunday  school,  and  was  far  better  fitted  than  an 
old  lady  on  a  houseboat  to  tell  Phil  what  was  right ! 

The  thin  shoulders  in  the  crimson  sweater  were 
thrown  back  stiffly,  and  the  wearer  marched  on,  try- 
ing to  feel  very  indignant.  But  Ma's  words  re- 
turned, fluttering  like  a  wind-blown  ribbon  against 
an  impatient  cheek. 

"Well,  then,"  demanded  Phil  aloud,  "if  God 
wants  people  to  be  good  to  other  people,  why  are  my 
stepmother  and  Edgar  and  Rebecca  so  mean  to  me  ? 
Why  don't  they  make  Edgar  stop  calling  me  names, 
and  teasing  Laddie  ?  I  told  him  to  let  Laddie  alone. 
That  must  have  been  what  Ma  meant, —  that  folks 
ought  to  be  better  to  me." 

For  about  two  minutes,  this  view  of  the  problem 


ON  BIBLE  ROAD  29 

brought  with  it  a  vague  satisfaction.  But  the  sense 
of  relief  did  not  last. 

"  Oh,  shucks !  "  she  exclaimed  impatiently.  "  All 
right  then,  I'll  try.  I'll  try  to  like  my  stepmother 
better,  if  I  can,  and  Edgar  too.  Now  Laddie's  gone, 
I've  naturally  got  to  love  somebody." 

Firm  in  this  high  resolve,  Phil's  heart  began  to 
lighten.  Walking  swiftly  now  she  began  to  plan 
ways  and  means  of  being  kinder  and  more  generous, 
when  she  should  have  reached  her  stepmother's  home. 

Absorbed  in  healing  resolutions,  Phil  did  not  hear 
the  low  purr  and  slide  of  an  approaching  automo- 
bile, until  a  discordant  and  terrifying  blast  sounded 
directly  in  her  ear.  She  screamed  and,  unconscious 
of  direction,  sprang  wildly  to  one  side. 

A  half-muffled  and  frightened  cry  followed,  evi- 
dently in  a  woman's  voice,  and  immediately  the  car 
came  to  a  stop  shivering  in  all  of  its  great  length  as 
though  it  were  a  living  and  terrified  animal. 

Swift  as  the  menace  had  been,  Phil's  danger  was 
now  over.  She  found  herself  deep  in  a  wayside 
ditch,  fortunately  nearly  dry,  but  which  had  grown 
up  into  a  dense  thicket  of  blackberry  bushes.  In 
falling,  she  had  clutched  at  a  branch,  and  her  hand, 
still  closed  convulsively  upon  it,  felt  as  if  it  were 
holding  hot  wires.  One  foot  was  caught  in  the  ooze 
of  the  mud,  the  other  was  gripped  by  thorns. 

At  this  critical  moment  a  different  voice  arose, 
that  of  a  laughing  child.  It  was  an  overdressed  lit- 
tle girl,  not  more  than  six  years  old,  who  leaned  far 
out  of  the  motor. 


30  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Oh,  look,  Miss  McCracken,  look  quick/'  trilled 
the  youngster  in  delight.  "  She's  all  scratched  up 
like  Brer  Rabbit  in  the  briar-patch." 

"Hush,  Constantia,  hush,  be  quiet!  I  am 
ashamed  of  you."  Then,  speaking  across  Constantia 
and  looking  down,  the  lady  said,  "  I  am  sorry,  little 
girl.  Are  you  seriously  hurt  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not !  You  go  away,"  raged  poor  Phil, 
so  maddened  with  pain  and  the  other  child's  mockery 
that  she  scarcely  knew  what  she  was  saying. 

Miss  McCracken's  face  hardened.  Constantia, 
seeing  it,  took  advantage  of  the  moment  of  silence 
to  cry  out,  her  bright  eyes  upon  Phil,  "  It  was  all 
your  fault,  you  stupid!  Don't  you  know  enough 
yet  to  get  out  of  the  way  when  you  see  the  Hopkins' 
car  coming  ?  " 

"  Hush,  Constantia,"  said  the  lady  again,  but  this 
time  with  less  vigor.  Then,  facing  about  to  the 
driver,  she  gave  the  command,  "  Home  Walter,"  and 
the  huge  mouse-colored  machine  moved  rapidly  away. 

Not  until  Phil  believed  the  car  and  its  hateful  oc- 
cupants to  be  many  miles  off  did  she  attempt  to  get 
out  of  the  ditch.  It  did  not  prove  an  easy  job. 
Both  of  her  hands  were  badly  scarred,  and  each  of 
her  fingers  had  been  punctured  by  thorns.  One  after 
another  of  the  small  digits  made  a  short  rueful  jour- 
ney to  Phil's  mouth,  there  to  be  thoughtfully  sucked, 
and  afterwards  wiped  off  on  the  black-and-white 
skirt,  or  the  red  sweater,  whichever  chanced  to  come 
first. 

Her  legs  itched  and  stung.     Once  back  on  the  road, 


ON  BIBLE  ROAD  31 

she  went  through,  various  acrobatic  contortions,  in 
order  to  view  that  part  of  them  where  calves,  later 
on,  might  appear.  She  was  shocked  to  see  three 
jagged  holes  in  each  stocking,  and  between  the  holes 
big  blood  stains  dyeing  the  thin  cotton  mesh. 

At  her  first  homeward  step,  Phil  stumbled  and 
nearly  fell,  because  of  a  length  of  white  thread  tat- 
ting, that  had  ripped  from  the  hem  of  her  petticoat. 
As  it  clung  to  the  garment  by  only  a  few  inches,  Phil 
stooped  over,  ripped  it  all  off,  and  with  a  vague  na- 
tion of  saving  the  trimming,  flung  it  in  a  loop  over 
her  shoulder.  It  was  at  this  point  she  discovered 
that  her  wonderful  box  had  been  lost.  She  recalled 
that,  in  her  first  alarm,  it  had  seemed  to  fly  of  itself 
from  her  hand,  but  where  was  it  now?  After  some 
searching,  the  treasure  was  found  among  the  roots 
of  the  brambles  and,  fortunately,  not  far  from  the 
road. 

Muddy  and  torn,  stinging  with  pain  and  resent- 
ment, Phil  again  started  towards  home.  All  of  the 
sweet  peacefulness  she  had  felt  a  few  moments 
earlier,  while  planning  so  happily  to  be  good,  had 
vanished.  How  she  hated  that  big,  gleaming  auto- 
mobile and  all  of  the  people  within  it!  Even  the 
horrid  looking  driver  named  "  Walter  "  had  grinned 
and  enjoyed  her  humiliation.  She  "  spised  "  the  en- 
tire Hopkins  family,  no  matter  how  many  they  were. 
She  "spised"  their  name,  "Hopkins."  "I'd  — 
I'd  just  like  to  kill  them,"  she  muttered  viciously. 
"  They're  so  stuck-up  and  rude." 

A  few  more  hobbling  steps  brought  her  to  the  cor- 


32  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

ner  of  Bible  Road,  Kington's  main  thoroughfare,  a 
long  wandering  highway  that  led  back  from  Beach 
Avenue  two  miles  inland  to  the  village. 

At  her  left,  ran  a  new  stone  wall  that  tried  to  look 
old  and  this  part  of  the  going  was  up-hill.  Near 
the  top  there  was  an  opening  in  the  wall,  from  which 
a  drive  led  inward;  and,  through  a  pair  of  tall  iron 
gates,  Phil  could  see  the  side  of  a  large  house,  also 
very  new,  built  of  soft  yellow  brick,  with  white  trim- 
mings. Near  it,  before  a  flight  of  broad  shallow 
steps,  was  standing  the  big  gray  car.  Philomel 
averted  her  face,  and  knew  that  she  disliked  Con- 
stantia  more  than  ever. 

At  the  summit  of  the  rise,  across  a  green  valley, 
she  could  see  her  own  dingy  dwelling,  shabby,  square, 
and  sadly  in  need  of  a  fresh  coat  of  paint. 

Tears  of  anger  and  self-pity  rushed  to  her  eyes. 
Why  should  she,  Phil  Merrill,  have  to  live  in  an  old 
barn  like  that,  while  the  hateful,  malicious  Con- 
stantia  dwelt  in  a  palace,  not  to  mention  having  a 
splendid  automobile.  It  seemed  so  cruelly  unfair. 
Phil  put  her  box  down  and  stopped  short,  in  order 
to  lift  the  torn  petticoat  and  apply  it  as  a  handker- 
chief. 

Where  she  stood,  Bible  Road  sloped  down  to  a 
level  green  strip  known  to  Kington  as  the  "  marsh." 
It  was  a  dense  growth  of  alders  and  pussy  willows, 
and  the  broad-leaved  plants  of  midsummer,  that  grow 
with  their  feet  in  water.  Among  close  hidden  roots, 
a  sluggish  brown  streamlet  had  gurgled. 

Then    the    millionaire    Hopkins,    having    bought 


ON  BIBLE  ROAD  33 

many  acres  facing  the  sea  and  erected  "  Hopkins' 
Castle,"  as  he  called  it,  had  a  whim  to  become  the 
possessor  of  a  fish-pond,  in  which  to  breed  trout, 
fresh-water  bass,  and  salmon  for  his  table.  Excava- 
tions were  made,  so  that  great  heaps  and  mounds  of 
red  earth,  tumbling  down  into  the  "  marsh,"  still 
showed  in  red  scars  against  the  greenness. 

At  that  instant,  Phil's  eyes  seemed  drawn  to  an 
object  which,  until  then,  she  had  not  noticed.  On 
Bible  Koad,  exactly  in  the  center  of  the  marshlands, 
and  therefore  just  half-way  between  the  boundaries 
of  the  Hopkins  and  the  Merrill  properties,  stood  a 
small  house,  so  peculiar  that  Phil  had  to  look  hard  to 
believe  that  it  really  was  there. 

Apparently  the  shanty  had  been  put  together  from 
scraps  and  bits  of  other  and  older  buildings.  Here 
and  there  a  new  plank  showed  up,  vivid  yellow  by 
contrast,  and  on  the  mottled  roof  squares  of  shingles 
alternated  with  strips  of  tin  and  slates  already  gray 
from  age.  It  had  no  paint.  On  the  outer  walls 
there  were  queer  splashes  of  color, —  sometimes  a 
portion  of  a  crimson  letter,  or  a  picture  of  a  huge 
human  hand.  On  one  plank,  and  startlingly  clear, 
was  an  enormous  eye  with  a  great  deal  of  white  to  it. 
This  meant,  of  course,  that  pieces  of  old  fallen  sign- 
boards had  been  used. 

A  shabby  verandah,  its  roof  supported  by  a  couple 
of  thin  corner  posts,  faced  the  road,  where  a  rude 
fence  had  been  begun  but  never  finished.  The  two 
gateposts,  round  sections  of  sawn-off  logs,  stood 
higher  than  was  necessary,  and  to  save  the  cost  of 


34  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

paint,  both  had  been  charred  black.  No  gate  as  yet 
hung  between  them. 

From  the  very  center  of  the  crazy  quilt  of  a  roof 
emerged  a  new  and  extremely  impudent  looking  little 
chimney  of  bright  red  brick.  Yet  grotesque  and 
desolate  as  it  was,  the  place  had  somehow  a  curiously 
waiting  air  about  it. 

"Whoever  has  to  live  in  that  house  has  a  whole 
lot  worse  home  than  mine,"  thought  Phil,  after  a 
prolonged  contemplation  of  the  dismal  shanty.  But 
what  sort  of  creatures  would  inhabit  it  ?  The  dark- 
ies in  their  neat  little  cabins  near  ( Grandma's ' 
would  have  scorned  such  a  rookery.  For  not  only 
was  the  building  itself  unbelievably  ugly,  but  no 
single  shrub,  not  one  kindly  screening  tree  was  any- 
where near  it.  And  some  way  back  from  its  harle- 
quin walls  grew  the  just  waking  alders  and  willows, 
stretching  on  and  on,  until  they  reached  the  line  of 
the  Merrill  orchard. 

The  dingy  top  story  of  Phil's  house,  with  its  one 
blinking  window,  did  not  seem  to  her  half  so  bad. 
She  now  realized  how  much  worse  off  some  children 
might  be, —  the  children,  for  example, —  if  such 
came  to  the  desolate  shanty  in  Bible  Road. 

Half-way  along  the  descent  of  the  hill,  and  while 
Philomel's  heart  was  still  warm  with  compassion, 
she  saw,  moving  slowly  in  her  direction,  a  group  of 
human  beings  so  strange,  so  incredibly  "  different," 
that  she  remained  rigid  and  fixed,  both  mouth  and 
eyes  set  wide  open. 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

ANNUNCIATA 

AT  first  Philomel  thought  it  an  unusually  large 
goat  wagon.  'Lijah  had  always  driven  home 
the  week's  washing  in  a  cart  evolved  from  a  dry- 
goods  box,  and  drawn  most  unwillingly  by  a  mangy 
old  billy  called  "  Miss  Rosa." 

But  very  soon  Phil  saw  that  instead  of  a  goat,  a 
slim  human  being  was  bound  in  the  crude  harness. 
She  would  have  believed  it  a  child  not  much  older 
than  herself,  except  that  the  girl  wore  a  black  skirt 
that  reached  to  her  ankles.  The  bowed  figure  strain- 
ing to  pull  the  heavy  burden  now  drew  itself  upward 
and  backward,  bracing  hard  against  its  load,  which 
at  the  instant  had  begun  too  swift  a  descent. 

Two  boys,  one  just  Edgar's  size,  the  other  con- 
siderably taller,  pushed  vigorously  in  their  efforts  to 
assist. 

All  were  bareheaded.  A  thin  little  girl  about  five 
years  old,  now  turning  her  back  to  the  others,  ran 
out  to  the  edge  of  the  road  and  began  gathering  a 
handful  of  wild  flowers. 

Behind  the  cart,  walking  exactly  in  the  center  of 
the  dusty  highway,  came  a  "grown-up,"  evidently 
the  mother  of  the  strange  flock.  She  was  bending 
far  over  with  the  weight  of  a  huge,  soft  bundle, — 


36  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

perhaps  clothing, —  tied  up  in  a  brightly  colored 
patchwork  bedspread,  and  bound  to  her  shoulders  by 
ropes. 

Beside  her  trotted  a  fifth  child,  a  small,  very  fat 
boy,  which  seemed  queer  as  the  rest  of  the  party 
were  all  thin.  The  fat  boy  clung  to  his  mother's 
free  hand, —  the  other  being  lifted  to  balance  her 
load, —  but  noticing  the  flower-gathering  sister,  he 
broke  away  in  order  to  join  and  to  imitate  her. 

Phil  had  unconsciously  walked  slower  and  slower. 
She  realized  that  by  keeping  her  present  pace,  she 
could  not  fail  to  meet  the  strange  procession  just  in 
front  of  the  two  charred  gateposts  of  the  hideous  new 
cottage. 

All  at  once,  as  if  some  one  had  spoken,  Phil  knew 
that  it  was  into  the  dreadful  shanty  that  the  family 
before  her  was  moving.  They  would  be  her  neigh- 
bors, right  between  her  own  house  and  the  Hop- 
kins. 

A  vivid  excitement  possessed  her,  and  her  heart 
began  pounding  her  ribs.  Was  this  the  little  girl 
friend, —  this  girl  in  the  wagon, —  that  Ma  Giddings 
had  said  would  surely  come?  Then  her  hope  sank. 
Perhaps  she  would  not  be  allowed  to  play  with  such 
children.  Mrs.  Merrill  was  very  particular, —  and 
this  little  brown  crew  were  a  kind  that  Phil  had  never 
seen  before.  But  though  hope  had  abated,  curiosity 
remained  in  full  force. 

The  open  cart  rumbled  nearer.  Philomel  began 
gradually  to  perceive  what  it  contained.  At  first 
only  two  heads  could  be  seen, —  one  that  of  a  black- 


ANNUNCIATA  37 

haired  baby  quietly  sleeping,  and  the  other  a  doll, 
a  great  doll  wearing  a  crown  of  bright  gold. 

Each  creak  of  the  homemade  cart  wheels  disclosed, 
inch  by  inch,  the  two  recumbent  bodies.  That  of 
the  baby  was  swathed  in  dingy  rags,  while  the  other, 
unwrapped,  showed  the  full  splendor  of  a  long  blue 
cloak,  parted  over  snowy  under-robes.  This  figure 
was  made,  it  would  seem,  of  porcelain  only  less 
smooth  and  shiny.  Wonder  of  wonders !  In  its  arms 
it  held  a  second  doll,  a  smiling,  round-faced  infant. 

Phil  thought  of  her  own  wax  and  china  babies, 
packed  deep  in  her  old-fashioned  trunk,  not  one  of 
which,  even  at  the  very  first,  had  been  as  dazzlingly 
beautiful  as  this  one.  She  could  not  understand 
how  children  so  dirty  and  ragged  as  those  now  com- 
ing toward  her  could  be  possessors  of  a  plaything  so 
splendid. 

The  cart  and  its  human  beast  of  burden  had  by 
this  time  reached  the  beginning  of  the  crazy  fence. 
All  of  the  wayfaring  eyes  turned  eagerly  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  cottage.  None,  apparently,  had  no- 
ticed Phil. 

The  mother,  under  her  tottering  load,  gave  a  loud 
exclamation,  and  began  to  talk  rapidly  in  a  language 
that  sounded  like  a  big  game  of  marbles,  cracking  to- 
gether and  rolling  every  way.  The  cart  stopped. 
The  speaker  hurried  past  it  and  attempted  to  enter 
the  gate.  Unfortunately  the  tall  posts  were  set  too 
close  together.  The  bundle  stuck  tightly  between 
them,  and  Phil  grinned,  thinking  of  Ma  Giddings  as. 
she  squeezed  through  her  narrow  cabin  door. 


38  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

The  woman  writhed  and  twisted.  More  of  the 
excited  syllables  began  to  snap  and  to  roll  about. 
The  two  larger  boys  ran  forward  to  assist  her,  but 
their  short  willing  arms  could  not  reach  up  so  far. 
There  was  a  sound  of  tearing,  a  last  grunting  effort, 
and  finally  the  woman  and  her  burden  made  the 
clearing  with  such  force,  that  both  went  staggering 
on  until,  at  the  edge  of  the  verandah,  they  collapsed 
into  two  soft,  quivering  lumps. 

There  were  childish  cries  of  consternation,  but  im- 
mediately the  mother  sat  up  laughing,  whereupon  all 
of  the  children  joined  in,  laughing  aloud  with  her. 

At  this  moment  the  girl  dragging  the  cart  and 
nearing  the  gateposts  caught  her  first  glimpse  of 
Phil.  The  two  stood  gazing  at  one  another. 

Philomel,  meeting  the  marvellous,  wide-opened 
eyes,  drew  in  her  breath  and  held  it.  Only  once  be- 
fore had  she  seen  a  face  so  exquisite.  This  had  been 
a  picture, —  the  picture  of  a  girl  in  a  foreign  dress 
not  unlike  that  before  her;  a  vivid,  lovely  face  in 
high  colors  that  ornamented  the  top  of  a  handkerchief 
box. 

The  box  was  even  now  in  that  unpacked  trunk. 
Since  the  Christmas  morning  on  which  Santa  Glaus 
had  brought  it,  Phil  had  felt  it  to  be  the  dearest  thing 
she  had  owned. 

On  that  radiant  countenance,  as  upon  the  living 
one  from  which  she  could  not  remove  her  fascinated 
gaze,  lay  the  soft,  brown-red  tinting  of  an  autumn 
peach.  The  thick  dark  hair,  shining  like  the  old 
mahogany  table  in  Grandma's  dining  room,  parted 


ANNUNCIATA  89 

in  a  narrow  white  line,  and  was  drawn  back,  waving, 
above  the  hidden  ears.  The  girl's  face  was  the 
shape  of  an  inverted  rosebud.  Her  eyes,  incredibly 
large  and  dark  and  tranquil,  had  a  look  that  seemed 
to  offer  love.  Her  mouth  was  as  red  as  a  cardinal 
flower,  and  when  she  laughed,  as  now,  Philomel  felt 
sure  the  angels  in  Heaven  wore  the  same  enchanting 
smile. 

Over  the  foreign  girl's  shoulders  was  an  orange- 
colored  kerchief,  bordered  with  purple  roses,  and 
about  the  slim,  brown  neck  a  string  of  coral  beads. 

"  Annunciata !  Annunciata !  "  came  in  sharp 
tones  from  the  seated  woman. 

Anunciata  turned  with  a  start.  "  Si,  Madre  miaf 
I  am  coming,"  she  answered,  the  last  three  words  in 
unmistakable  English.  This  fact  brought  to  Phil  a 
deep  and  glowing  satisfaction.  It  would  have  been 
little  less  than  a  tragedy  not  to  be  able  to  talk  with 
the  wonderful  stranger. 

After  a  last  brilliant,  flashing  smile,  Annunciata 
turned  and  began  to  drag  once  more  on  the  ignomini- 
ous harness.  She  neared  the  two  charred  posts,  al- 
ready the  scene  of  a  partial  disaster,  when  one  of  the 
poorly  fastened  wheels  struck  full  against  the  fence. 
There  were  cries  of  warning.  Annunciata  attempted 
instantly  to  "  back."  But  it  was  too  late.  Already 
the  cart  was  toppling,  and  in  another  instant  it  went 
sprawling  sidewise,  the  open  top  toward  Phil,  the 
little  beast  of  burden  being  thrown  violently  to  the 
ground. 

The  sleeping  baby,  waking  with  a  scream  of  terror, 


40  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

rolled  over  and  over  in  the  road  until  it  struck  against 
the  bulwarks  of  Phil's  feet,  while  the  wonderful  doll, 
flung  against  one  of  the  posts,  broke  with  a  dreadful 
crash. 

Now  the  strangest  of  all  these  strange  happenings 
began.  There  was  a  general  shriek  as  of  bodily  an- 
guish. Each  child,  independently,  made  a  series  of 
surprising  gestures,  touching  with  the  raised  right 
hand  first  the  forehead,  next  the  breast,  and  then 
the  two  shoulders,  one  after  the  other.  The  woman 
from  the  verandah  rushed  back  to  the  gate,  her  arms 
flying  around  and  around,  like  those  Dutch  wind- 
mills in  pictures  Phil  had  seen.  The  excited  crea- 
ture uttered  cries  and  ejaculations  as  of  a  person 
gone  insane. 

"Madonna  mia!  Miserecordia! "  she  wailed. 
"  Ohime  I  —  Disgrdzia.  Madonna  mia!  " 

"Madonna  mia!"  echoed  the  chorus  of  sobbing 
children. 

Annunciata  alone  made  no  sound.  Swiftly  and 
silently  she  disentangled  herself  from  the  harness, 
got  to  her  feet,  and  darting  to  the  broken  image,  sank 
beside  it,  looking  down. 

The  others  followed  her,  kneeling  in  a  sorrowful 
ring.  No  one  had  taken  the  slightest  notice  of  the 
crying  baby.  Lying  in  the  dusty  road,  it  still  beat 
the  air  with  frightened  fists,  not  knowing  what  to 
make  of  this  unusual  neglect. 

A  little  uncertainly  Phil  stooped,  laid  her  ginger 
box  on  the  ground,  and  lifted  the  weeping  infant. 
She  had  never  in  all  of  her  life  before  held  a  real, 


ANNUNCIATA  41 

living  baby.  The  weight  of  the  small  palpitating 
body  terrified  her.  Somehow  she  thought  it  would 
have  been  much  lighter.  She  sent  up  a  prayer,  ask- 
ing God  not  to  let  her  drop  the  precious  armful.  It 
felt  at  first  as  if  it  were  literally  flowing  through  her 
fingers. 

When  Philomel  found  that  it  was  not  really  slip- 
ping, but  could  be  held  quite  securely  as  if  it  had 
been  a  rabbit  or  a  puppy,  her  courage  returned.  She 
pressed  the  tumbled  black  head  upon  her  shoulder 
and,  rocking  back  and  forth,  began  to  croon : 

"  Bye  some  bye, —  shut  your  eye, 
Go  to  sleepy,  little  baby. 
You  shall  have  a  long  white  gown, 
Go  to  sleepy,  little  baby." 

From  some  far-away  land  of  her  own  babyhood,  the 
old-fashioned  lullaby  came  echoing,  and  as  the  trem- 
bling of  the  child  could  not  be  stilled,  its  young  nurse 
continued : 

"  Black  and  bay,  sorrel  and  gray, 
All  the  pretty  little  horses. 
You  shall  wear  a  long  white  gown, 
And  go  to  see  Grandmother." 

As  Phil  hummed  the  last  words,  the  baby  snug- 
gled its  dirty,  tear-stained  cheek  against  her.  Not 
without  difficulty  could  she  manage  to  lift  the  corner 
of  her  skirt  high  enough  to  wipe  off  the  worst  layer 
of  grime.  Beneath  it,  she  saw  a  wistful  little  face 
that  held  the  promise  of  growing  up  to  look  like  An- 
nunciata. 


42  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Again  she  needed  to  stoop,  this  time  for  the  ginger 
box,  and  now  indeed  Phil's  hands  were  full. 

"  There,  there,"  she  said  to  her  charge.  "  You 
were  not  really  hurt.  You  just  rolled  over  and  over 
in  the  road." 

After  a  few  more  sobs,  the  baby's  lids  began  to 
droop.  With  a  sense  of  triumph  and  of  ecstasy, 
Phil  knew  that  it  was  going  to  sleep.  Now  she 
dared  walk  closer  to  the  kneeling  group.  Weren't 
she  and  the  baby  part  of  it  ? 

Over  the  nodding  little  head,  she  saw  Annunci- 
ata  lift  first  one,  and  then  another  section  of  the  doll. 
Fortunately  it  was  not  shattered,  but  had  broken  into 
three  clean  pieces.  The  lower  fragment,  where  the 
white  and  blue  robes  flowed  outward  to  make  a  sort 
of  pedestal,  was  not  hurt. 

This  piece  Annunciata  now  set  upright  in  the 
road.  Fitted  upon  it  came  a  second  section,  rather 
long  and  narrow,  finishing  at  the  top  with  a  rup- 
tured shoulder.  The  two  parts  remained  as  she  had 
placed  them. 

Low,  hopeful  murmurs  rose  from  the  transfixed 
group.  All  crossed  themselves  once  more,  and  be- 
gan whispering  in  their  queer,  excited  language. 

With  slim,  brown  hands  that  now,  in  spite  of  all 
their  deftness,  showed  signs  of  trembling,  Annunci- 
ata took  up  the  third  hollow  piece.  This  was  the 
most  important,  for  it  bore  not  only  the  gold  crowned 
head  of  the  doll-mother,  but  in  its  arms  the  child. 
The  three  parts  cohered  precisely,  whereupon  a  great 
sigh  of  thankfulness  went  up. 


ANNUNCIATA  43 

Annunciata,  her  face  radiant,  held  the  image  in 
place,  and  looked  about  as  if  in  search  for  a  needed 
something.  Phil  knew  by  instinct  what  it  was  she 
wanted,  and  remembered  the  long  string  of  tatting 
around  her  neck. 

She  ran  forward  eagerly,  knelt  by  Annunciata,  and 
said,  "  Here's  a  nice  string  around  my  shoulders.  I 
can't  take  it  off  with  the  baby  and  this  box." 

"  Grazia — Grazia!  We  thank  you/'  cried  the 
Italian  girl,  with  a  glance  so  full  of  happy  gratitude 
and  so  bewildering  that  Phil  felt  a  little  dizzy. 

Having  the  tatting  woven  about  it,  the  image 
stood  upright  and  complete.  The  lacy  binding 
seemed  actually  to  increase  its  beauty. 

Laughing  aloud  in  their  new  delight  and  relief, — 
though  tears  still  hung  on  all  of  the  thick,  black 
lashes, —  the  family  arose  as  one.  Annunciata,  lead- 
ing on,  bore  the  lovely  blue  and  white  figure  as  one 
holds  a  baby  at  a  font.  Single  file,  the  rejoicing 
procession  moved  toward  the  house. 

Within  the  empty  and  desolate  dwelling,  Annun- 
ciata's  eyes,  so  soft  yet  so  intelligent,  fixed  at  once 
on  the  low  mantelshelf,  and  while  the  watchers  held 
their  breath,  she  placed  the  doll  exactly  in  the  center, 
and  drew  back,  her  hands  clasped  in  an  attitude  of 
prayer.  The  children  behind  her  started  to  kneel, 
but  were  checked  by  a  sudden  order  from  the  mother. 

Darting  out  upon  the  verandah  with  a  haste  that 
very  nearly  overturned  Phil  and  the  baby,  she  stooped 
to  the  huge  cloth  bundle,  and  began  to  tear  it  open. 

After  much  nervous,  exclamatory  searching,  she 


44  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

finally  took  out  a  pasteboard  box  covered  with  blue 
and  silver  tissue  paper.  This  she  brought  back,  un- 
opened, into  the  room,  and  placed  it  in  Annunciata's 
hands. 

Philomel  could  not  help  staring.  Whatever  she 
had  been  taught  of  politeness  gave  way  under  an  in- 
tolerable strain  of  curiosity.  She  must  see  what  mar- 
vellous treasures  belonged  in  a  box  like  that. 

Annunciata  took  from  it  first  two  small  candle- 
sticks with  a  pair  of  candles.  Even  the  matches 
were  there  for  lighting  them.  Next  she  disclosed  a 
shell  of  white  china  edged  with  tawdry  gold,  and 
last  of  all  a  bottle  full  of  clear  water. 

Phil  experienced  a  decided  disappointment. 
What  cheap,  ridiculous  toys  they  were  to  make  such 
a  fuss  over. 

The  candles  were  set  at  each  side  of  the  mended 
image,  while  directly  in  front  of  it  was  placed  the 
«hina  shell.  As  Annunciata  began  working  the  cork 
from  the  bottle,  the  children  again  crossed  themselves, 
and  the  mother,  raising  her  hands  and  lifting  her 
eyes  to  heaven,  murmured  something  that  ended  with 
the  inevitable  "  Madonna  mia." 

When,  with  exceeding  care,  every  drop  of  the 
precious  water  had  been  drained  into  the  shell,  An- 
nunciata, looking  around,  discovered  the  little  girl 
•who  had  gathered  the  wayside  flowers,  and  selecting 
two  sprays  of  the  blue  Virginia  cowslips  from  the 
humble  sheaf,  she  stuck  them  into  the  bottle,  and  put 
it  near  the  big  doll. 

Now  with  a  face  that,  somehow,  had  moonlight 


ANNUNCIATA  45 

on  it,  though  the  sun  was  shining,  the  young  Italian 
performed  the  last  act  of  her  amazing  ceremony. 

Dipping  a  slim,  brown  finger  into  the  shell,  she 
turned,  and  going  from  one  child  to  another,  left  the 
sign  of  the  cross  upon  each  young  brow. 

Finally  she  moved  toward  the  baby.  In  approach- 
ing, she  smiled  straight  into  Phil's  blue  eyes.  Bend- 
ing over  the  sleeping  child,  the  sister's  red  lips  whis- 
pered something  that  sounded  like  a  prayer.  With 
special  tenderness,  she  made  the  imprint  of  heavenly 
protection  on  the  forehead  of  the  unconscious  infant, 
and  then,  with  her  fingers  still  upheld,  looked  ques- 
tioningly  at  Phil. 

Philomel  nodded.  She  had  not  an  idea  what  it 
meant,  but  whatever  the  queer  game  was  that  they 
were  playing,  she  did  not  wish  to  be  left  out. 

In  another  instant  a  wet,  cool  spot  lay  on  the  little 
"  Piscerpalean's  "  fair  brow. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

THE  BEKTOLLOTTIS  SET  UP  HOUSEKEEPING 

THE  Italian  family  scattered,  as  school  children 
at  the  first  tap  of  a  recess  belL  Some  ran  to 
the  big  bundle  sprawling  half  opened  on  the  veran- 
dah floor.  Others  stepped  down  into  the  bare  plot  of 
earth  before  the  hovel,  running  to  the  gate  where  the 
overturned  cart  still  reposed. 

Phil,  patting  and  cuddling  the  now  slumbering 
infant,  kept  within  a  few  inches  of  Annunciata's 
slippered  heels.  The  girl  at  this  moment  was  on 
her  knees  beside  the  quilt,  carefully  extracting  from 
its  tumbled  contents  a  small  square  of  cloth,  wadded 
to  the  thickness  of  a  crib  mattress.  She  stood  up, 
the  drab-colored  object  dangling  from  one  hand. 

"  This  is  the  baby's  bed,"  she  informed  Phil. 
"  Now  let  us  carry  her  into  the  house  and  leave  her 
sleeping.  She  is  heavy  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  protested  Phil,  hugging  the  small  bur- 
den closer.  "  She  isn't  a  bit  heavy ;  she's  just  sweet. 
I  wish  I  could  have  her  for  mine." 

The  big  sister's  face  grew  lovelier  than  before. 
"  There  is  nothing  the  good  God  sends  so  sweet  as 
a  small  baby,"  she  agreed.  "  This  is  our  littlest  one, 
—  our  bambino,.  Her  name  is  Rosa  Maria." 

"  Rosa  Ma-ree-ya,  Rosa  Ma-ree-ya,"  Philomel  mur- 


HOUSEKEEPING  47 

mured,  carefully  imitating  the  Italian  pronunciation 
of  the  name.  "  It  suits  her  exactly.  She  is  like  one 
of  the  little  tight  pink  rosebuds  in  my  Grandma's 
garden,  at  home.  Oh,  I  love  that  name  for  her, — 
Rosa  Ma-ree-ya." 

Unconsciously  her  clasp  on  the  baby  had  strength- 
ened. The  child  gave  a  low  cry,  half  opened  its 
eyes,  and  beat  out  into  the  air  with  a  brown  clenched 
fist. 

"  You  see,"  warned  Annunciata,  as  she  soothed 
Rosa  Maria.  "  She's  still  frightened  some. 
Wouldn't  we  better  let  her  lie  quiet  to  herself  ?  " 

"All  right  then,"  sighed  Phil.  "I  reckon  so. 
But  I  do  hate  to  put  her  down  anywhere.  When 
she  wakes  up,  can  I  hold  her  again  just  as  long  as  I 
like?" 

"  Sure !  "  exclaimed  the  other  girl  cordially.  "  It 
is  kind  for  you  to  want  to  hold  Rosa  Maria." 

While  speaking,  Annunciata  had  been  moving  in- 
doors. The  small  pallet  was  spread  in  a  shadowy 
corner.  Phil,  quite  overcome  with  importance, 
stooped  down,  and  deposited  her  sleeping  armful. 

In  rising,  she  turned  to  the  Italian  and  asked  in  a 
whisper,  "  Will  you  tell  me  something,  please,  'RTun- 
ciata  ? " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  nodded  the  other. 

"  When  Rosa  Maria  and  the  cart  toppled  over, 
why  didn't  any  of  you-all  run  to  her?  Why  did 
everybody  begin  crying  over  the  big  doll  ?  " 

"  The  doll  ?  We  haven't  any  big  doll,"  rejoined 
Annunciata  in  wonder.  Her  dark  eyes  went  by  in- 


48  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

stinct  to  the  gaudy  image  on  the  mantelshelf. 
"  Oh,"  she  smiled,  "  you  mean  the  Madonna,"  and 
with  the  words,  she  crossed  herself  hurriedly. 
"  That  is  no  doll,  Signorita ;  it  is  Our  Lady  —  the 
Blessed  Virgin  —  the  Mother  of  God." 

"  Oh,  is  that  what  it  is,"  said  Phil  rather  doubt- 
fully. In  her  childish  eyes,  it  seemed  a  small  object 
to  be  the  mother  of  any  one  so  big  as  her  idea  of 
God.  She  thought  it  best,  however,  not  to  ask  fur- 
ther questions. 

She  now  gazed  around  the  room.  It  seemed  sin- 
gularly bare. 

"  Don't  you  have  any  furniture  or  sure-enough 
beds  ?  "  she  inquired. 

Annunciata's  brown  head  went  up  an  inch.  "  I 
should  say  we  did !  "  she  replied  quickly.  "  Our 
things  are  coming  from  the  station.  Half  a  wagon 
load.  They'll  be  here  soon.  We  have  beds  and 
many  stools,  and  one  chair,  and  other  furniture 
too." 

Phil  realized  all  at  once  how  rude  she  had  been. 
"  Of  course,"  she  said  earnestly,  "  I  knew  that  you 
had  beautiful  things.  It  —  it  —  just  wasn't  here." 

"  In  the  house  we  come  from,"  the  young  Italian 
continued,  "  everything  was  fine.  Curtains  at  the 
windows,  a  red  parlor  rug, —  yes,  and  a  white  cloth 
to  eat  from.  Then  came  a  bad  accident  to  my  poor 
father, —  and  we  had  to  sell  much, —  and  move  here. 
But  it  is  all  right,"  she  cried  in  a  happier  tone. 
"  God  and  Our  Lady  will  protect  us,  keeping  the 
children  well  and  giving  us  plenty  of  polenta.  Ah, 


HOUSEKEEPING  49 

that  makes  me  remember  it  is  supper  time.  Till 
our  stove  comes,  we  must  cook  in  the  parlor  fire- 
place." 

"  What  fun !  Oh,  please  let  me  help,"  pleaded 
Phil,  now  all  eagerness  to  atone  for  her  discourtesy 
about  the  furniture  and  the  missing  beds. 

While  speaking,  she  held  out  both  hands.  In  one 
shone  and  glittered  the  ginger  box.  "  Here,  'Nun- 
ciata,"  she  said  impulsively,  "  you  can  have  all  this 
ginger  for  your  supper." 

Annunciata  received  the  gift  dumbly.  For  a  min- 
ute or  two,  she  could  find  no  words  for  her  gratitude. 
"  Oh,  oh,  Signorita,  is  too  beautiful !  "  she  cried. 
"  It  is  too  beautiful  for  common  polenta.  Can  we 
keep  it  for  a  festa?  Maybe  for  my  big  brother's 
festa,  on  the  name  day  of  his  patron  saint, —  the 
blessed  Saint  Cristofo." 

Phil  nodded  a  willing  assent.  She  had  not  the 
least  idea  what  the  Italian  girl  was  talking  about, 
but  the  plea  in  those  wonderful  eyes  was  enough. 

The  box  was  tenderly  placed  near  the  Madonna,  as 
if,  after  all,  it  was  she  who  had  given  it,  then 
running  to  the  doorway,  Philomel  called  back, 
"  Don't  you  want  me  to  go  out  in  the  yard,  'Nunciata, 
and  get  you  some  wood  for  your  fire  ?  I  used  to  love 
to  pick  up  light-wood  at  Grandma's." 

"  It  is  a  fine  thought,  Signorita,  and  you  are  kind. 
What  we  need  next  is  an  armful  of  wood.  Here, 
Tonio,"  she  ordered,  speaking  directly  to  a  slim, 
black-headed  boy.  "  Go  with  the  Signorita  and  bring 
it  in." 


50  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

The  boy  nodded,  and  stood  waiting  for  their  vis- 
itor to  move  on.  It  was  plain  that  whenever  An- 
nunciata  gave  a  command,  the  whole  family,  includ- 
ing the  excitable  mother,  were  prompt  to  obey. 

With  her  ragged  attendant  at  her  heels,  Phil  went 
proudly  forth.  Just  back  of  the  cottage  was  a  clear- 
ing, where  the  feet  of  bricklayers  and  carpenters  had 
trampled  the  tall  weeds,  forming  an  irregular  open- 
ing in  the  dense  marsh  thicket  that  ran,  apparently 
for  miles,  between  the  two  low  hills. 

Tonio,  stooping,  loaded  his  arms  with  faggots  of 
dry  willows  and  alders,  but  Phil,  who  had  never 
chanced  to  see  such  stuff  used  in  building  fires,  made 
her  choice  of  board  ends  and  chips. 

More  than  once  she  attempted  conversation  with 
the  shy  Tonio,  but  at  each  direct  question  he  would 
stare,  grin  rather  foolishly,  and  then  hang  his  head. 
"  It  must  be,"  Philomel  thought,  "  the  boy  is  like  his 
foreign  mother,  and  can't  speak  our  American  lan- 
guage." 

A  few  moments  later,  in  the  house,  while  the  fire 
was  being  started,  Phil  found  her  young  hostess 
more  communicative.  The  name  of  the  family  as  a 
whole  was  Bertollotti, —  just  as  Phil's  name  was 
Merrill.  They  were  It-talians,  not  Eye-talians,  An- 
nunciata  took  pains  to  point  out;  and  not  so  very 
long  ago  her  young  father  and  mother  had  come  to 
the  new  country  to  work  and  to  learn  true  American 
ways.  "  We  too, —  my  brother  and  me, —  we  are 
American,  even  if  we  were  born  in  Italy,"  Annun- 
ciata  added  with  emphasis.  "  We  are  real  Ameri- 


HOUSEKEEPING  51 

cans,  because  our  hearts  are  so  full  of  love  for  your 


"  And  am  I  an  American  too  ?  "  asked  Phil  a  trifle 
anxiously. 

"  Yes,  yes,  Signorita,  you  are  a  most  beautiful 
American,"  was  the  admiring  reply. 

Phil  experienced  a  sense  of  definite  relief.  "  Oh," 
she  sighed,  "  I  am  so  glad.  I  thought  maybe  I  was 
just  a  Southerner,  like  Grandma  and  Mammy." 

Through  further  confidences,  Phil  learned  that  be- 
fore the  poor  father's  accident,  the  Bertollottis  had 
owned  their  home,  in  the  suburbs  of  a  big  city,  where 
Tonio  had  attended  a  public  school.  "  Of  course," 
said  Annunciata,  "  our  children  being  American, 
must  get  the  American  education." 

"  Did  you  go  to  school,  Annunciata  ?  "  questioned 
Phil.  "  I'm  going  to  the  Kington  one  next  fall,  my 
stepmother  says.  I  don't  want  to." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  Annunciata  replied,  "  I  went,  but  not 
to  a  big  public  school.  For  many  years  I've  been 
taught  in  a  convent,  the  Convent  of  Mercy.  It  was 
quiet  and  beautiful,  and  each  day  just  like  another. 
Sometimes  I  could  cry  to  be  there  again  with  the 
good,  holy  nuns." 

At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Bertollotti,  who  had  been 
bustling  about,  and  at  times  pausing  to  listen,  bent 
down  to  her  daughter,  and  said  something  in  a  low, 
vehement  voice. 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  She  dropped  her  head 
with  an  air  of  timidity.  "  She,  my  mother,  says," 
murmured  Annunciata  shyly,  "  that  I  must  tell  you, 


52  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

—  in  all  of  the  girls  at  my  convent, —  I  was  the  one 
to  make  the  best  filet." 

Phil  stared,  and  strove  to  look  intelligent,  as  well 
as  delighted.  Filet  sounded  to  her  like  something 
that  Mammy  used  to  put  into  the  soup. 

Her  embarrassment  must  have  been  obvious,  for 
Mrs.  Bertollotti,  hurrying  to  the  verandah,  stirred 
and  tossed  about  the  contents  of  the  quilt,  until  she 
withdrew,  as  in  triumph,  a  flat  pasteboard  box.  All 
of  the  Bertollotti  treasures,  it  would  seem,  were  kept 
in  pasteboard  boxes. 

Now  chattering  incessantly  in  Italian,  the  mother 
thrust  this  one  into  Annunciata's  rather  unwill- 
ing hands.  "  Open,  open  quickly,"  she  com- 
manded. 

The  strings  were  carefully  untied,  and  the  top 
lifted.  On  a  background  of  blue  tissue  paper  lay  a 
small  wooden  hoop,  and,  fixed  into  the  circle,  was  a 
half-finished  square  of  white  lace. 

"  It  is  filet"  explained  Annunciata.  "  I  make  it 
to  sell." 

"  Oh,  it  is  perfectly  lovely!  "  cried  Phil.  "  Just 
like  cobwebs  on  weeds  in  the  morning.  All  it  needs 
are  some  drops  of  dew.  What's  that  thing  in  it  go- 
ing to  be,  a  chicken  ?  " 

"  No,"  laughed  the  lace-maker,  "  it's  a  dove,  a 
dove  with  the  olive  spray  of  peace  in  its  mouth. 
When  it's  only  started  like  this,  you  can't  tell  a 
chicken  from  a  dove." 

"  And  you  really  can  sell  that  ? "  Philomel  de- 
manded, deeply  impressed  by  the  thought  that  a  girl 


HOUSEKEEPING  53 

not  much  older  than  herself  could  actually  make 
money. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  replied  the  Italian.  "  What  I  get  for 
my  lace,  and  what  Cristofo  earns  in  the  city,  is  all 
the  Madre  and  the  children  have  to  live  on  —  since 
that  day  my  poor  father  — " 

The  speaker's  lips  trembled.  She  leaned  far  over 
the  box  lid,  as  if  trying  to  hide  her  emotion.  "  Did 
he  —  did  your  poor  father  die  ?  "  questioned  Phil  in 
a  hushed,  awe-stricken  tone. 

*'  No,  thanks  to  the  Virgin,  he  did  not  die.  But 
he  was  hurt  terrible  bad.  He  is  in  the  city  hospital, 
and  the  doctor  says  he  may  never  get  welL  So  I  left 
the  convent  to  come  and  help  the  Madre,  and  to  keep 
on  making  lace.  Then  a  good,  kind  man  named  Mr. 
Ferris,  he  heard  of  our  trouble,  and  he  says  to  Cris- 
tofo that  this  nice  little  house  is  for  us  to  live  in. 
We  don't  need  to  pay  rent  for  a  long  time,  the  kind 
Mr.  Ferris  told  us.  He  will  wait  until  times  is  bet- 
ter for  us.  Isn't  he  a  good  man,  Signorita  ?  " 

Before  Phil  could  reply,  a  great  clatter  in  the 
doorway,  and  the  struggle  of  laughing  children,  an- 
nounced that  they  were  bringing  in  the  materials  for 
supper.  One  carried  a  big  iron  pot,  another  a  heap 
of  what  looked  like  wooden  bowls,  while  three-year- 
old  Hugo,  the  fat  boy,  staggered  in,  both  of  his  arms 
clasping  a  huge  cloth  bag  filled  with  something  soft 
and  heavy. 

The  fire  now  crackled  merrily.  Mrs.  Bertollotti 
reached  down,  lifted  the  pot  in  one  wiry  hand,  and 
with  the  other  took  from  Hugo  the  rapidly  slipping 


54  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

bag.  She  began  at  once  to  look  about  the  room,  first 
anxiously,  then  with  growing  excitement.  A  volley 
of  Italian  words  poured  forth.  The  Madonna  and 
all  of  the  saints  were  appealed  to. 

"  My  mother  is  afraid,"  Annunciata  quietly  ex- 
plained to  the  bewildered  Philomel,  "  that  there  is  no 
water  in  this  place.  And  how,  in  the  name  of  God, 
is  she  to  cook  polenta  without  water  ?  " 

"But  there  is  water,"  declared  Phil.  "I  saw  a 
faucet  trickling  at  the  corner  of  the  house." 

Instantly  the  heart-broken  prayers  to  the  saints 
were  changed  into  cries  of  thankfulness. 

"  I'll  show  you,"  boasted  Phil.  Again  she 
marched  proudly  out,  chin  in  air,  knowing  herself 
a  benefactress. 

The  filling  of  the  black  pot  was  in  itself  a  cere- 
mony. 

"  Is  that  bag  the  polenta  ?  "  asked  Phil  in  a  whis- 
per. 

"  Yes,"  nodded  Annunciata,  "  Italians  live  on 
it." 

Phil  could  scarcely  wait  to  see  the  strange  stuff 
disclosed.  The  name  delighted  her.  "  Polenta, — 
polenta."  She  thought  it  must  have  the  taste  of 
honey,  mixed  with  melted  ice  cream. 

The  thrilling  moment  had  come.  Mrs.  Bertollotti 
poured  a  generous  measure. 

"  That's  not  polenta ! "  Phil  exclaimed,  in  acute 
disappointment.  "  That's  nothing  but  common  old 
corn  meal, —  the  kind  Mammy  eats,  and  'Lijah." 

"  Aw,  chase  yerse'f !  "  cried  Tonio,  with  vivid  un- 


HOUSEKEEPING  55 

expectedness.  "  Sure  it's  polenta.  Did  yer  think 
they  was  dimonds  in  de  bag  ?  " 

After  this  picturesque  rebuff,  Phil  wisely  held  her 
peace. 

In  front  of  the  fireplace  Mrs.  Bertollotti  stirred 
the  black  pot.  Her  face  had  grown  as  red  as  a  new 
brick.  Perspiration  streamed  down  it,  and  every 
few  moments  she  needed  to  push  back  from  her  fore- 
head a  mass  of  wet,  black  hair. 

Annunciata  had  discovered  another  bag,  this  time 
a  paper  one.  From  it  she  drew  six  hard,  purplish 
onions.  The  eyes  of  the  children  glistened. 

Next  the  six  wooden  bowls,  each  with  a  pewter 
spoon,  were  set  at  exact  intervals  along  the  veran- 
dah's edge. 

"  We  are  all  ready,  Madre  mid"  Annunciata 
called  out. 

"  Si,  si,  va  bene  vtengo"  came  the  mother's  voice. 
The  children  took  their  places.  No  one,  not  even 
Annunciata,  had  thought  of  making  them  wash  their 
grimy  little  hands. 

But  another  crisis  arose.  Mrs.  Bertollotti,  spoon 
in  hand,  rushed  to  the  doorway  and,  filling  it,  waved 
both  arms  wildly,  at  the  same  time  giving  vent  to  the 
most  terrific  flow  of  Italian  Phil  had  yet  heard.  Two 
of  the  younger  Bertollotis  began  to  cry. 

"  She  is  saying,"  translated  Annunciata,  "  that 
we  forgot  a  most  important  something.  We  have  no 
salt  for  the  polenta." 

Phil  sprang  to  her  feet.  "Pooh,  salt!  What's 
salt !  "  she  cried  airily.  "  There's  loads  and  loads 


56  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

of  it  over  to  my  house.  I  haven't  lived  there  long, 
but  I  know  ezzacerly  where  Rebecca  keeps  it.  You 
just  wait !  " 

She  crashed  off  through  the  budding  marsh.  The 
Italians,  excited  and  hopeful,  smiled  at  each  other 
as  they  watched  her  go. 

Phil  went  straight  toward  the  outer  edge  of  her 
orchard.  It  would  mean,  as  she  thought,  merely  a 
fight  with  the  alders  and  willows  that  closed  over 
her  head,  but  after  a  short  progress,  she  felt  her  feet 
sinking  into  mud.  Here  was  something  more  dan- 
gerous. Had  she  stepped  into  quicksand?  Push- 
ing down  sheaves  of  the  pliant  bushes,  she  trod 
lightly,  first  on  one,  then  another,  and  by  this  device 
managed  to  cross  in  safety. 

A  low  stone  wall  had  once  bordered  the  orchard, 
but  long  since  it  had  fallen  away  into  gaps;  it  was 
through  one  of  these  that  she  now  passed,  and  wiping 
off  as  much  mud  as  she  could  on  the  grass,  hastened 
up  into  the  kitchen. 

The  door  stood  open.  There  was  no  one  within 
sight  or  hearing.  Phil  entered  softly,  for  somehow 
her  stepmother's  house  was  one  in  which  a  child 
would  naturally  move  softly. 

She  looked  swiftly  about.  Yes,  just  as  she  had 
thought,  there  was  the  salt  box  on  the  wall  near  the 
range.  No  mistake  was  possible,  for  the  word 
"  Salt "  was  plainly  printed  in  black  letters.  Phil 
reached  up  and  took  a  handful.  As  it  began  to 
trickle  through  her  fingers,  she  realized  that  she  must 
get  a  cup  or  glass  to  hold  it. 


HOUSEKEEPING  57 

She  tiptoed  in  toward  the  dining  room,  where  she 
knew  that  some  of  the  dishes  were  kept.  In  order 
to  find  them,  it  was  necessary  to  pass  through  the 
pantry,  and  on  one  of  the  shelves,  just  at  her  elbow, 
lay  the  half  of  a  cold,  roast  fowl  and  three  pies. 

Philomel's  cautious  footsteps  dragged.  Again 
and  again  she  glanced  back  over  her  shoulder  at  the 
pies  and  the  chicken.  Returning  with  the  cup,  she 
came  to  a  stop  before  them.  How  good  that  chicken 
would  taste  to  the  tired  and  hungry  little  Bertollottis, 
with  their  dreadful  meal  of  gruel.  And  there  were 
tllfree  uncut  pies.  How  could  one  of  them  possibly 
be  missed  ? 

Phil  stood  first  on  one  thin  leg  and  then  on  the 
other.  She  knew  in  her  heart  that  she  had  no  right 
to  the  food  before  her,  yet  there  she  stayed,  playing 
with  temptation.  Cousin  Betty  had  taught  her  to  be 
charitable.  Not  even  a  begging  negro  was  allowed 
to  go  hungry  from  Grandma's  door.  Hadn't  the  dear 
Lord  himself  said  that  you  ought  to  be  kind  to  the 
poor?  And  to  feed  the  hungry?  The  Bertollottis 
looked  awful  hungry.  Maybe  it  would  be  wicked 
not  to  help  them. 

Then  another  thought  came  to  justify  the  tempta- 
tion. "  It's  my  father's  house.  He  built  it,  and  I 
am  his  only  daughter,  even  if  he  is  dead.  I've  got 
a  right  to  some  of  the  things  in  this  house." 

It  was  settled.  Phil  caught  up  the  chicken  and 
a  pie,  filled  the  cup  full  of  salt,  and  making  her  way 
down  the  kitchen  steps,  ran  as  if  being  pursued  into 
the  orchard. 


58  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Once  there,  well  hidden  by  the  leaning  old  tree 
trunks,  she  deflected  her  course  into  the  road,  crossed 
the  four  planks  that  served  as  a  bridge  over  the  es- 
cape from  Hopkins'  pond,  and  ran  in  boldly  through 
the  two  charred  posts  of  the  vacancy  where,  some 
day,  might  swing  a  Bertollotti  front  gate. 

"  Ah,  grazia,  obligaiissimo,  Signorita,"  exclaimed 
the  delighted  children  as  Phil  came  into  sight;  but 
Tonio,  turning  a  handspring  in  his  excitement,  burst 
out,  "  Gee,  but  you  is  some  little  dame  all  right,  all 
right!" 

The  mother,  who  had  been  walking  the  floor  in  her 
impatience,  now  darted  forward  and  down  like  a 
kingfisher,  seizing  upon  the  salt. 

An  instant  later  she  reappeared,  bearing  the  steam- 
ing pot.  The  wooden  bowls  were  filled,  the  chicken 
carefully  distributed,  and  each  child  given  an  onion. 

Phil  refused  her  share  of  the  bounty.  She  knew 
that  even  a  small  bit  of  the  chicken  would  have 
choked  her,  and  as  for  corn  meal  mush !  Once  after 
an  attack  of  measles  she  had  been  forced  to  eat  it, 
and  she  felt  that  the  one  experience  was  sufficient  to 
last  her  for  a  lifetime. 

But  the  little  Bertollottis  were  licking  their  red 
lips  in  enjoyment.  After  a  spoonful  of  mush,  they 
would  each  one  take  up  an  onion,  dip  it  into  a  pyra- 
mid of  salt  on  the  floor,  and  with  strong,  white  teeth 
crunch  deep  into  its  purplish  layers.  Phil  shud- 
dered. She  waited  to  see  the  tears  begin  to  flow,  but 
nothing  of  the  sort  happened. 

The  sun  was  now  balancing  its  great  crimson  ball 


HOUSEKEEPING  59 

upon  the  western  hills.  In  another  moment  he  would 
be  behind  them.  This  sight,  as  well  as  her  watch- 
ing of  the  famished  little  flock,  reminded  Philomel 
that  her  own  supper  time  was  drawing  near. 

She  slipped  down  from  her  seat  at  the  edge  of  the 
verandah.  How  she  did  hate  starting  for  her  step- 
mother's house!  This  was  worse  than  leaving  the 
houseboat.  Her  desolate  little  soul  cried  out  for 
Laddie.  Where  was  he  now?  Had  Pa  Giddings 
already  taken  him  to  the  Island  of  Safety?  Was 
Laddie  thinking  of  her  as  she  was  of  him  ? 

A  big  lump  rose  in  her  throat.  She  saw  that  the 
Bertollottis  had  paused  in  their  eating  to  watch  her, 
and,  throwing  her  head  back,  she  announced,  with 
an  effect  of  cheerfulness,  "  Well,  I  must  be  going. 
I  hope  you'll  enjoy  the  pie." 

The  Italian  family  arose  as  one, —  all  of  them, 
that  is,  all  except  Hugo  who  was  absorbedly  stuffing, 
and  the  baby,  still  dreaming  in  its  quiet  corner. 
Again  thanks  were  spoken,  and  the  blessings  of  the 
many  saints  called  down  upon  the  visitor. 

"  Addio,  addio,  please  to  come  to  see  us  soon," 
called  Annunciata,  waving  her  brown  hand. 

"All  right,  I  will,"  answered  Phil.  "  Good-by. 
Kiss  Rosa  Maria  for  me." 

She  forced  a  brave  little  smile,  but  her  heart  grew 
heavier  at  each  step  toward  home. 

In  fainter  accents  came  the  softly  spoken  "  Addio, 
buona  Signoriia,  Addio." 


CHAPTER  SIX 

PHILOMEL    GIVES    A    PROMISE 

THE  Merrill  house  was  not  far  away.  There 
was  no  fence  or  gate  in  front  of  it.  One 
needed  merely  to  step  up  to  a  single  granite  block, 
and  then  follow  a  bare  walk  under  shading  elm  trees 
to  the  front  door. 

Phil  hoped,  as  she  trudged  along,  that  she  might 
be  able  to  enter  unseen,  to  slip  up  to  her  little  cham- 
ber, there  to  exchange  the  torn  and  bloody  gingham 
for  a  clean  one,  before  facing  her  stepmother. 

At  the  corner  of  the  orchard  nearest  the  house, 
this  cherished  hope  fell  dead.  Mrs.  Merrill  was  sit- 
ting on  the  "  piazza,"  as  she  called  it,  hemming  some 
sort  of  a  white  cloth.  On  the  floor,  close  to  his 
mother's  skirts,  Edgar  was  playing  a  solitary  game 
of  "  jacks." 

All  the  way  up  the  walk,  Phil  heard  the  tap-tap  of 
the  jacks  upon  the  boards,  with  now  and  then  a  click 
of  metal,  as  the  small  copper  stars  struck  one  upon 
the  other. 

The  little  girl's  head  hung  low.  Each  advancing 
step  became  increasingly  difficult.  The  jacks  fell 
silent,  and  she  knew  that  Edgar's  eyes  as  well  as 
those  of  his  mother  were  fixed  steadily  upon  her. 
What  she  did  not  realize  however,  was  that,  as  she 


PHILOMEL'S  PROMISE          61 

slowly  advanced,  her  whole  being  expressed  such 
misery  and  reluctance  that  the  stepmother's  reprov- 
ing face  softened. 

Mrs.  Merrill  was  far  from  unkind.  She  was  an 
estimable  woman  and  a  devoted  member  of  her 
church.  She  desired  and  intended,  with  all  of  her 
heart,  to  "  do  her  duty  "  by  her  husband's  daughter. 
Before  her  marriage  to  good  Doctor  Merrill,  whom 
every  one  had  loved,  she  had  been  a  "  schoolmarm  " 
of  the  old-fashioned  variety.  Believing  in  the  use 
of  "  rulers  "  on  upturned,  shrinking  palms,  and  of 
the  wearing  of  the  ignominious  dunce-cap  by  badly 
behaved  boys. 

The  two  great  passions  of  Mrs.  Merrill's  life  were 
for  extreme  neatness  in  housekeeping,  and  for  the 
rigid  discipline  of  children;  and,  as  sometimes  hap- 
pens with  such  people,  she  was  blind  to  the  fact  that 
her  own  child  was  outrageously  spoiled.  Edgar's 
every  action  seemed  right  in  her  eyes  and  in  those 
of  old  Rebecca,  who  was  a  distant  impoverished  rela- 
tive. 

As  Phil  reached  the  lowest  step,  Mrs.  Merrill 
spoke.  She  tried  to  make  her  somewhat  harsh  voice 
gentle. 

"  You  must  not  stay  away  so  long  a  time,  Philo- 
mel. I  have  been  worrying  about  you.  What  have 
you  done  with  the  dog  ?  " 

"I  —  I  —  somebody  is  keeping  him  for  me," 
stammered  Phil  as  she  took  the  next  step. 

Mrs.  Merrill's  face  showed  relief.  Her  dislike  of 
dogs  was  sincere. 


62  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Well,  perhaps  that  is  the  best  arrangement  for 
the  present,"  she  commended  with  increased  kindli- 
ness of  tone. 

Edgar  looked  up,  and  Phil  saw  that  his  left  hand 
was  carefully  bandaged. 

"  I  'spect  I'll  go  mad  and  foam  at  the  mouth  yet," 
he  stated  hopefully.  "  Then  Mommer  says  your  old 
dog's  goin'  to  be  shot." 

Before  Phil  could  utter  the  quick  retort  that 
sprang  to  her  lips,  Mrs.  Merrill  said  hastily,  "  Ed- 
gar's wound  was  not  very  deep.  The  doctor  does  not 
think  it  necessary  for  your  dog  to  be  shot.  That  is," 
she  added  cautiously,  "  not  unless  Edgar  shows  symp- 
toms, unless  he  grows  worse.  Now  come  here  to  me, 
Philomel,  and  tell  me  how  you  managed  to  get  your- 
self into  this  dreadful  condition." 

Phil  promptly  obeyed.  Things  were  turning  out 
better  than  she  expected. 

"  The  Hopkins'  car  nearly  ran  over  me,"  she  began 
breathlessly.  "  There  was  a  horrid  little  girl  who 
laughed  when  I  fell  in  the  ditch  and  got  all  scratched 
up.  She  called  me  Brer  Rabbit.  She  — " 

Here  the  narrative  was  interrupted  by  an  outburst 
of  shrill,  delighted  laughter  from  the  small  boy.  It 
sounded  so  like  Constantia's  that  Phil's  cheeks 
flamed. 

"  Edgar,  Ed-gar !  "  remonstrated  the  mother,  just 
as  Miss  McCracken  had  done. 

Phil  ran  toward  her  tormentor.  "  I  wish  it  had 
been  you, —  you  hateful,  sneaking  little  cry-baby, 
you !  "  she  stormed.  "  Just  let  me  get  you  — " 


PHILOMEL'S  PROMISE          63 

Mrs.  Merrill  jumped  to  her  feet  and  caught  Phil 
backwards.  "  Behave  yourselves,  both  of  you !  "  she 
ordered  sharply.  "  I  am  surprised  at  you,  Philomel. 
The  idea  of  attacking  your  brother  like  that !  and  his 
hand  tied  up  even  now  where  your  dog  bit  it !  " 

"Then  why  did  he  laugh?"  raged  Phil.  "It's 
just  what  that  hateful  girl  did.  I'm  hurt  too.  My 
hands  are  all  torn  up  and  stinging.  Edgar  ought 
not  to  laugh  when  I'm  hurt." 

By  this  time  her  struggles  to  reach  Edgar  had 
ceased,  but  she  continued  gazing  down  on  the  boy's 
cringing  form  with  eyes  so  full  of  contempt  and  dis- 
like that  it  stung  Mrs.  Merrill  to  anger. 

To  make  it  worse,  Edgar,  in  his  present  cowering 
attitude,  one  arm  held  up  as  if  to  parry  a  blow,  his 
thin  lips  snarling,  was  not  a  pleasing  picture. 

"  Why  is  his  neck  so  yellow  and  thin  ?  "  Phil  pon- 
dered. "  And  why  does  his  hair  stick  out  in  those 
funny  dry  points  ?  I  think  I  could  like  him  a  little, 
if  his  hair  was  curly  and  dark  like  Tonic's." 

All  at  once  she  felt  a  quick  grasp  on  her  arm. 
"Don't  you  glare  down  at  Edgar  like  that,  Philo- 
mel," commanded  the  stepmother.  "  Go  at  once  to 
your  room.  Wash  yourself  and  change  every  stitch 
that  you  have  on.  Your  feet  are  disgraceful! 
Those  shoes,  I  suppose,  are  utterly  ruined.  When 
you  come  downstairs,  I  shall  expect  you  to  apologize 
for  this  display  of  temper.  Now  go." 

Phil  flew  upstairs  in  a  whirlwind  of  protest.  "  I 
won't  never  apologize  to  her,  neither, —  horrid  old 
thing !  "  the  child  cried  hysterically  under  her  breath. 


64  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  She's  mean,  and  Edgar's  mean.  Oh,  I  wish  I  was 
back  home  with  Grandma  and  Cousin  Betty !  " 

But  after  the  hot  face  was  washed,  the  thick  hair 
brushed,  and  all  of  the  damp,  soiled  garments  ex- 
changed for  freshly  starched  ones,  Phil's  flare  of 
anger  had  considerably  cooled. 

Downstairs  she  found  that  her  stepmother  and 
Edgar  had  moved  into  the  dining  room.  The  sun 
had  gone,  but  the  light  was  sufficient  for  Mrs.  Merrill, 
close  against  a  window,  to  continue  her  sewing,  while 
her  son  was  absorbed  in  a  new  game  of  jacks. 

Eebecca  was  moving  about  setting  the  table  for 
supper.  She  and  Mrs.  Merrill  talked,  their  voices 
rising  as  Rebecca  went  into  the  pantry  or  kitchen, 
and  falling  again  as  the  old  serving-woman  drew 
near. 

"A  pack  of  beggarly  rapscallions  is  what  I  call 
'em.  They're  a  disgrace  to  the  hull  neighborhood," 
Eebecca  was  saying,  as  Phil  entered. 

"  You  saw  them  plainly  then  ?  "  Mrs.  Merrill  ques- 
tioned. 

"  Yes.  I  was  sweepin'  off  the  porch,  and  they  all 
come  by.  One  of  them  asked  me  where  was  the 
Ferris  cottage.  Of  course,  I  knowed  what  place  she 
meant,  from  hearin'  a  rascally  agent  had  put  up  that 
hovel  and  after  fillin7  it  with  emigrants  meant  to 
blackmail  Mr.  Hopkins  into  buyin'  up  the  land." 

"  The  whole  scheme  is  outrageous,  disgraceful !  " 
Mrs.  Merrill  exclaimed,  tightening  her  thin  lips,  and 
speaking  with  warmth.  "  But  Mr.  Hopkins  refuses 
to  be  blackmailed.  He  does  not  intend  to  buy  any 


PHILOMEL'S  PROMISE          65 

more  land.     I  have  it  positively  from  his  wife." 

Phil  did  not  in  the  least  realize  of  what  they 
were  talking.  She  was  only  too  glad  that  something 
interested  her  stepmother  to  the  point  of  making  her 
forget  to  enforce  the  dreaded  apology. 

Edgar  looked  up.  "  I  was  out  in  the  front  yard 
playin'  marbles,"  he  remarked  in  his  thin  nasal 
voice.  "  I  chunked  rocks  at  'em,  and  some  dirt  too. 
I  most  know  that  I  hit  one  of  'em." 

"  And  a  good  thing  if  you  did,"  commended  Re- 
becca, with  an  approving  glance  at  the  speaker. 
"  The  whole  filthy  passel  of  gypsies  ought  to  be 
stoned  and  driven  off." 

"  What  I  fear  most,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill  in  a  trou- 
bled way,  "  is  that  they  will  bring  disease  into  the 
neighborhood.  They  are  so  unclean.  I  am  told 
that  vermin  literally  crawls  upon  them.  It  is  a 
shame  that  the  village  authorities  let  them  pass, 
especially  now,  with  this  scare  of  infantile  paralysis 
in  the  big  cities." 

"  This  is  gettin'  to  be  a  land  no  decent  folks  can 
live  in,"  Rebecca  asserted  viciously.  "  When  even 
the  open  country  is  allowed  to  fill  up  with  these  here 
thievin',  lyin',  germ-carryin'  Eyetalians." 

Now  Phil  understood.  She  sprung  to  her  feet. 
"  They  are  not  thieving  and  lying !  "  she  protested. 
"They  are  not  Eyetalians  either.  They  are  just 
as  good  as  you,  and  better  too !  " 

Rebecca  very  nearly  dropped  a  plate.  Indigna- 
tion gathered  on  her  hard  wrinkled  face.  "  You 
up-settin'  huzzy !  "  she  gasped.  "  You  spiled,  im- 


66  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

perdent  young — "  but  at  a  signal  from  Mrs.  Mer- 
rill, she  paused  and  swallowed  her  wrath. 

Now  the  stepmother's  stern  eyes  fixed  themselves 
on  Phil.  "  Never,  never  again  speak  to  Rebecca 
like  that,"  she  commanded.  "  Such  outbursts  of 
temper  are  not  to  be  allowed  in  my  house. 

"  But  she  called  them  such  terrible  names !  "  pro- 
tested Phil.  "  And  they  are  lovely  people,  'speci- 
ally 'Nunciata  and  Rosa  Maria.  They  are  sweet." 

"  Have  you  been  with  those  Italians  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Merrill  in  a  voice  so  cold  that  Phil  shivered. 

"  Nome,"  she  replied,  speaking  the  first  conscious 
falsehood  of  her  life.  "  I  was  coming  by  on  the 
road,  and  I  saw  them  all  eating  their  supper  and 
laughing.  They  called  the  big  girl  'Nunciata. 
They  didn't  look  a  bit  horrid  or  thieving,  and  Re- 
becca hasn't  any  right  to  say  so." 

Mrs.  Merrill  did  not  seem  entirely  satisfied  with 
this  explanation,  but  she  was  wise  enough  not  to 
press  the  point,  while  Phil  and  the  old  servant  con- 
tinued to  dart  gleams  of  enmity  at  each  other  across 
the  table. 

"Well,"  she  sighed,  rising  from  her  rocker,  and 
folding  the  white  cloth  into  a  neat  square,  "  this  has 
been  a  very  trying  day.  Get  up,  Edgar,  and  come 
to  your  supper.  Take  your  place,  Philomel,  and 
don't  forget  to  ask  a  silent  blessing.  Is  everything 
ready,  Rebecca  ? " 

The  "  help,"  who  had  disappeared  into  the  pantry, 
now  rushed  up  to  Mrs.  Merrill,  her  empty  hands 
held  wide,  and  on  her  face  a  look  of  ugly  triumph. 


PHILOMEL'S  PROMISE          67 

"  There,  what  did  I  say !  "  she  exclaimed,  casting 
a  withering  glance  upon  Phil.  "  The  chicken  for  our 
supper  is  gone,  and  a  whole  pie  too!  There  ain't 
been  no  tramps  or  no  peddlers  near  the  house.  Of 
course  it's  those  beggars  next  door  what's  took  them !  " 

Phil's  heart  gave  a  great  frightened  bound,  and 
then  seemed  to  die  in  her  breast.  Her  hour  of  reck- 
oning had  come.  She  was  in  for  it,  but  even  so,  she 
did  not  intend  to  take  her  scolding  meekly.  Throw- 
ing her  head  up,  she  looked  defiantly  from  one  horri- 
fied face  to  another. 

"I  took  that  chicken  and  pie,"  she  said  clearly. 
"  I  carried  them  over  for  the  Italians'  supper. 
They  were  hungry  and  tired,  so  I  knew  it  would 
taste  good  to  them.  Anyhow,  they  didn't  have  even 
one  pie,  and  you-all  had  three." 

Rebecca  was  for  once  stricken  speechless.  Mrs. 
Merrill,  her  eyes  never  once  leaving  her  stepdaugh- 
ter's face,  sank  down  slowly  into  a  chair.  Edgar's 
malicious  little  squeak,  "Thief!  Thief!  Phil 
Merrill's  a  thief!  Ain't  she  a  thief,  Mommer,  for 
stealin'  our  pies  ? "  passed  unheeded. 

"  You  took  my  food  and  gave  it  to  those  filthy 
Italians,"  uttered  Mrs.  Merrill,  less  as  a  question 
than  a  statement  of  something  incredible  of  belief. 

Phil  nodded  curtly. 

''  You  took  food  from  my  shelves, —  food  out  of 
our  mouths, —  and  deliberately  carried  it  off  to  a 
pack  of  newcomers  who  are  a  disgrace  to  any  self- 
respecting  neighborhood  ?  " 

Phil  swallowed  hard,  but  again  nodded. 


68  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

For  a  long  moment  the  speaker  remained  silent. 
Phil's  heart  beat  so  loud  that  she  thought  the  others 
must  hear  it.  A  wave  of  actual  terror  made  the 
hard  faces  swim.  Would  the  stepmother  dare  to 
lay  hands  on  her?  Would  she, —  more  horrible 
picture, —  give  her  over  to  Eebecca  for  the  sort  of  a 
beating  which  Mammy  so  often  was  threatening  to 
bestow  on  the  grinning  Elijah?  In  all  of  her  life, 
Phil  had  never  been  given  a  blow.  Her  face,  though 
she  could  not  know  it,  was  as  white  as  one  of  the 
candles  now  burning  in  front  of  the  Bertollotti's  big 
doll.  Her  eyes, —  distended  with  dread, —  had 
grown  almost  black. 

"  Here,  sit  down  in  this  chair  facing  me,  Philo- 
mel," said  Mrs.  Merrill,  as  she  saw  how  the  slight 
figure  trembled.  "  Listen  quietly  to  what  .1  must 
say,  then  you  can  go  up  to  your  room  without  sup- 
per. Your  share  is  being  eaten  by  your  new  friends 
next  door." 

The  child  sat  down  thankfully.  For  a  moment 
she  thought  herself  fainting  and  in  peril  of  slipping 
down  to  the  floor.  With  a  courageous  effort  she 
drew  herself  up.  She  would  not  give  way  to  weak- 
ness before  her  stepmother,  not  to  mention  the  watch- 
ful, slyly  smiling  Kebecca. 

"  Apart  from  the  theft  of  the  food,"  Mrs.  Merrill 
began,  "  do  you  realize  that  you  have  told  me  a 
definite,  outspoken  falsehood  ?  " 

Phil,  muttering  an  inaudible  admission,  dropped 
her  head  until  the  small  guilty  face  was  quite  hid- 
den. 


PHILOMEL'S  PROMISE          69 

"  This  is  a  thing  that  must  be  settled  between  us 
once  and  for  all,"  the  voice  of  judgment  continued. 
"  I  am  not  the  sort  of  a  woman  to  shirk  a  plain  duty, 
and  I  will  not  have  a  liar  under  my  roof." 

To  this  no  reply  could  be  given.  Already  con- 
victed of  lying,  Phil  was  still  in  her  stepmother's 
house.  What  next  would  be  done? 

"  For  your  dead  father's  sake,  I  suppose  I  must 
shelter  and  clothe  you,"  the  hard  tone  went  on. 
"  But  even  more  should  I  see  to  your  moral  up- 
bringing. This  first  time,  Philomel,  I  shall  leave 
your  wicked  untruthfulness  to  your  own  conscience. 
Your  punishment  for  thieving  includes  that,  too.  I 
shall  make  it  my  business  to  see  that  neither  offence 
is  repeated.  Are  you  listening  attentively,  Philo- 
mel?" 

A  second  muttered  "yes"  answered  the  query, 
but  this  time  it  was  accompanied  by  a  look  of  cowed, 
sullen  hatred. 

Mrs.  Merrill  set  her  shoulders  an  inch  straighter. 
"  Please  remember,"  she  said,  "  that  in  all  this  house 
there  is  nothing  that  does  not  belong  absolutely  to 
me  and  to  Edgar.  Your  aristocratic  grandmother 
did  not  have  one  penny  to  leave  you.  That  tumble- 
down old  house  where  you  lived  was  only  hers 
through  charity.  Your  own  mother's  people  may 
have  been  proud,  but  they  were  as  poor  as  church 
mice,  all  of  them." 

She  paused.  Philomel  said  nothing,  but  Mrs. 
Merrill  began  to  find  the  wide  staring  eyes  very  un- 
comfortable. 


70  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  I  can  see,"  the  speaker  went  on,"  that  you  have 
inherited  from  your  poor  father  the  fault  that  pre- 
vented him  from  becoming  the  successful  man  he 
should  have  been.  His  hand  was  never  closed.  He 
was  giving,  always  giving.  He  wore  himself  out, 
and  his  early  death  was  due  to  practising  among  peo- 
ple who  seldom  paid  what  they  owed  him.  When 
I  married  your  father  I  tried,  with  prayers  and 
tears,  to  make  him  see  how  unjust  he  was  to  his  wife 
and  child, —  to  his  children,  I  mean.  But  he  was 
too  far  gone  in  his  ways.  Even  I,  who  loved  him 
so  dearly,  could  not  save  him." 

Now  Phil  spoke.  Her  small  blond  head  was  high, 
and  her  voice  singularly  clear.  "  I  am  glad  I  am 
like  my  father,"  she  said  proudly. 

For  some  strange  reason,  this  speech  greatly  in- 
creased Mrs.  Merrill's  anger. 

"  Get  from  the  room  at  once,"  she  cried.  "  Not  a 
crumb  that  you  put  into  your  mouth  but  is  paid  for 
out  of  my  savings.  From  now  on,  you'll  not  wear  a 
dress  that  I  do  not  have  to  buy  and  then  make  for 
you.  And  all  of  the  gratitude  I  get  is  to  have  you 
take  food  from  your  brother  and  from  me,  to  give 
to  a  lot  of  miserable  beggars  next  door.  To-night, 
you  have  left  us  practically  nothing  for  our  own 
meal." 

"I  want  some  good  chicken  for  my  supper," 
wailed  Edgar.  "  Make  her  go  back  and  get  me  my 
chicken,  Mommer." 

"  Bring  us  food  from  that  nest  of  germs  and 
disease !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  Never !  It 


PHILOMEL'S  PROMISE          71 

would  probably  finish  you  up,  little  son, —  a  thing 
Philomel's  dog  failed  to  do  this  morning.  No,  the 
food  is  gone.  Philomel!  stop  a  moment;  there  is 
something  else  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

Phil  paused  in  the  doorway,  turning  a  small  dis- 
dainful chin  over  one  shoulder. 

"  Philomel ! "  repeated  the  voice  even  more 
sharply.  "  Kindly  face  me,  and  stand  waiting  re- 
spectfully while  I  am  speaking." 

Phil  faced  about.     Her  eyes  were  ugly. 

"  I  am  giving  an  order,  and  one  that  I  mean  shall 
be  obeyed,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  It  is  important 
not  only  for  yourself,  but  for  this  entire  household. 
Never  again, —  so  long  as  you  are  under  my  roof 
and  I  am  feeding  you, —  are  you  to  set  foot  into  that 
Italian  hovel.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

The  child  muttered  something  inarticulate.  She 
was  thinking,  as  her  rebellious  gaze  was  fixed  on  her 
stepmother's  stern  countenance,  how  different  in 
every  way  was  Annunciata, —  how  serene  she  was. 
Compared  to  the  "  foreign  beggar,"  as  they  called 
the  endearing  stranger,  these  people  looked  like 
witches  in  a  fairy  tale.  After  all,  was  it  so  much 
better  to  be  an  American? 

Mrs.  Merrill  grew,  if  possible,  a  shade  whiter. 
She  did  not  mistake  Phil's  expression. 

"  I  must  have  your  promise,  Philomel,  never  to 
go  there  again,"  the  stepmother  insisted. 

The  child  closed  her  lips  obstinately. 

Mrs.  Merrill  took  three  long  strides  forward. 
"Philomel!" 


72  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"I  —  I  —  promise,"  gasped  Phil,  and  then, 
knowing  herself  to  be  at  last  free  for  escape,  flounced 
•out  of  the  room  and,  for  the  second  time  that  day, 
started  angrily  up  the  uncarpeted  stairs. 

Edgar's  thin,  nasal  tones  seemed  to  creep  after 
her.  "  I  wish  old  Phil  Merrill  hadn't  come  here  to 
live  with  us,  don't  you,  Mommer?  Let's  send  her 
away  like  the  dog." 

There  was  no  light  provided  for  Phil's  room,  ex- 
cept that  of  a  single  candle  in  a  squatty  brass  holder. 
Kerosene  was  used  downstairs  and  in  Mrs.  Merrill's 
apartments,  but,  quite  properly,  the  stepmother 
feared  to  let  Phil  have  a  lamp. 

There  was  no  immediate  need  even  for  a  candle, 
as  a  soft  gray  twilight  still  flooded  the  unat- 
tractive spaces.  All  of  the  bureau  drawers  stood 
open,  showing  where  Phil  had  been  "  rooting,"  as 
'Lijah  would  have  said,  for  her  clean  clothes.  The 
soiled  ones  were  strewed  over  the  floor. 

Phil  threw  herself  face  down  upon  the  bed.  "  I 
hate  them !  "  she  ground  through  clenched  teeth. 
"  I  hate  every  one  of  them.  I  won't  stay  here.  I 
am  going  to  run  away  and  go  to  Cousin  Betty.  Oh, 
if  I  could  only  live  with  Ma  Giddings  in  her  little 
house,  or  with  'Kunciata  and  all  the  children  next 
door!  I  just  naturally  can't  put  up  with  Edgar 
and  Rebecca  and  my  stepmother,"  she  ended,  in  a 
phrase  borrowed  straight  from  Mammy  Jane. 

Until  now,  pride  and  anger  had  held  back  her 
tears.  She  felt  the  flood  coming,  and,  as  it  were, 
ran  forward  to  meet  it. 


PHILOMEL'S  PROMISE          7$ 

"  Oh,  Grandma,"  she  sobbed,  "  Oh,  Laddie, —  oh, 
my  dear  Cousin  Betty!  I'm  frightened  up  here  all 
alone  by  myself  in  this  ugly  room.  I  don't  want  to 
be  in  the  dark.  I'm  going  to  run  off,  first  thing  in 
the  morning,  and  find  Cousin  Betty,  yes,  I  am, — 
and  nobody  can't  stop  me.  I  just  won't  stay  in  this 
house." 

Because  of  her  cries,  and  the  words  spoken  aloud, 
Phil  had  not  heard,  outside  of  her  door,  the  sound 
of  slow  footsteps.  Mrs.  Merrill,  fearing  that  she 
had  been  a  little  severe,  had  quickly  followed  the 
culprit. 

Overhearing  these  sentences,  the  listener  put  her 
hand  out  to  the  door ;  the  knob  was  just  being  turned 
when  Phil,  under  a  new  rush  of  anger,  sat  up  in 
bed,  crying  out,  "  They're  all  poor  white  trash, 
that's  what's  the  matter  with  them.  Mammy  said 
they  was  going  to  be  poor  Yankee  whites,  and  they 
is,  and  they  are.  I  won't  live  here, —  that's  what !  " 

Mrs.  Merrill's  curved  hand  fell  away  from  the 
knob.  Her  slender  form  stiffened.  She  went  back 
down  the  stairs,  leaving  Phil  to  have  her  battle  out 
alone. 

For  a  long  while  the  moans  and  loud  sobs  from 
the  bed  continued.  It  was  an  experience  so  entirely 
new  to  the  child  that  in  a  way  she  was  enjoying  her 
wretchedness.  The  cool  blue  darkness  of  an  April 
night  stole  in.  Phil  could  not  have  believed  that  so 
soon  she  would  become  sleepy,  but  strange  weights 
hung  upon  her  lids.  She  snuggled  down  to  her  pil- 
low. Over  a  fold  of  the  bed  clothes  she  could  see, 


74  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

right   out  through   the   one  shutterless  window,   a 
great  star. 

It  seemed  to  hang  down  from  the  sky  like  a  ripen- 
ing orange,  so  close  that  almost  she  could  have 
leaned  out  and  grasped  it.  She  smiled  at  the  star, 
and  held  one  small  hand  outward.  Then  the  sleepy 
arm  fell.  The  rumpled  head  sank  down  deeper,  and 
when  next  Phil  looked  up  —  there  was  no  star  at  all 
—  only  the  pale  pink  glory  of  a  new  morning. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 
ANNUNCIATA'S  SECRET 


PHIL'S  first  sensation  upon  waking  was  that 
of  being  chilled  to  the  bone.  There  was 
also  a  feeling  of  unusual  stiffness.  She  curved  her 
small  body  around,  like  a  cutworm  at  the  root  of  a 
plant,  and  began  reaching  sleepily  down  toward  the 
foot  of  the  bed.  At  home  there  had  always  been, 
even  in  summer,  a  light  eider-down  comforter. 
Here  she  felt  nothing  but  the  flat,  harsh  surface  of 
a  white  honeycomb  spread. 

For  some  strange  reason,  Phil's  feet  seemed  espe- 
cially unmanageable.  She  forced  her  drowsy  eyes 
open  a  little  wider,  in  order  to  look  down  upon  them. 
The  shock  of  discovery  drew  her  straight  up  in  bed. 
!NTo  wonder  she  felt  so  funny.  Her  shoes  and  stock- 
ings were  still  on ! 

After  passing  her  hands  rapidly  from  throat  to 
ankle,  Phile  broke  into  a  low  laugh  of  excitement. 
What  a  perfectly  splendid  idea  to  sleep  always  in 
one's  clothes,  and  save  the  tiresome  bother  of  dress- 
ing. 

Jumping  out  of  bed,  she  ran  to  her  eastern  win- 
dow. The  rim  of  the  world  showed  in  a  long,  dim 
strip  of  grayish-green.  From  a  single  point  came 
beams  of  light,  widening  as  they  rose,  and  spreading 


76  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

apart  like  spokes  of  a  fan.  As  she  stood  staring,  the 
upper  edge  of  a  blood-red  sun  appeared,  and  from 
the  birds  in  the  wet  orchard  under  her  window  came 
little  chirps  and  twitters,  followed  by  shrill  rounde- 
lays of  song.  Mist  lay  thick  in  the  valley,  the  one 
object  protruding  from  it  being  the  Bertollottis'  pert 
red  chimney. 

All  at  once  the  events  of  Phil's  crowded  yesterday 
came  scurrying  back  into  her  mind.  More  had  hap- 
pened in  that  one  day  than  in  all  of  her  quiet  life 
preceding  it. 

There  was  the  terrible  scene  when  Laddie  had 
tried  to  bite  the  teasing  Edgar, —  her  blind  flight 
with  the  dog,  in  order,  as  she  believed,  to  save  his 
precious  life, —  Pa  and  Ma  Giddings  in  their  mar- 
vellous houseboat, —  the  Hopkins'  car,  with  the 
jeering  Constantia, —  Phil's  first  sight  of  the  Ital- 
ians, and  her  astonishment  at  the  way  the  whole 
family  behaved  when  the  doll  they  called  Madonna 
had  been  broken. 

What  a  day!  At  this  point  in  her  reflections, 
Phil  moved  impatiently,  and  murmured  her  favor- 
ite "  shucks."  She  did  not  want  to  remember  what 
followed.  It  was  most  uncomfortable  to  recall  her 
theft  of  the  chicken  and  the  pie;  her  spoken  false- 
hood; her  deep  humiliation  before  the  spoiled  Edgar 
and  hateful  old  Rebecca ;  and,  worst  of  all,  the  prom- 
ise forced  from  her  by  the  angry  stepmother.  Such 
things  were  better  forgotten,  that  is,  if  one  were 
fortunate  enough  to  be  able  to  forget. 

By  this  time,  the  dim  line  of  the  horizon  had 


ANNUNCIATA'S  SECRET        77 

changed  to  attractive  looking  trees.  They  grew, 
Phil  could  see,  on  the  farther  side  of  the  bay.  The 
placid  water  was  like  crimson  glass,  with  a  light 
glowing  up  from  beneath  it.  There  was  no  wind 
at  all.  The  whole  world  lay  quiet,  shining  and 
content,  awaiting  the  coming  of  day. 

u  I'm  going,"  said  Phil  aloud,  though  she  was 
careful  to  speak  in  a  low  voice.  "  I'm  all  dressed, 
and  I'm  going  this  minute  to  see  my  Laddie." 

She  walked  softly  to  her  door  and  opened  it.  At 
first  she  heard  nothing.  Then  from  the  room  across 
the  hall  came  a  disturbing  sound.  There  seemed  to 
be  some  one  rattling  pebbles  in  a  dish  pan.  The 
stones  would  be  swished  violently  about,  then,  with 
a  low  hiss,  be  poured  out  into  space,  falling  nowhere. 

Phil's  knees  weakened.  She  had  no  courage  to 
move  nearer  to  the  uncanny  noise.  Then  a  con- 
vulsive snort  and  shudder,  not  unlike  the  sneeze  of 
an  old,  old  horse,  told  her  that  it  was  only  Rebecca 
snoring. 

.Smiling  with  satisfaction,  and  quite  bravely  now, 
the  fugitive  made  her  way  downstairs.  All  of  the 
doors  were  locked,  and  some  of  them  bolted  in  ad- 
dition. It  took  what  seemed  a  frightful  length  of 
time  to  open  the  front  one  without  too  much  squeak- 
ing. But  at  last  Phil  found  herself  safely  out- 
side. 

The  cool  and  penetrating  sweetness  of  the  early 
morning  thrilled  her.  She  longed  to  join  her  sing- 
ing to  that  of  the  birds,  but  until  the  abhorred  old 
house  was  put  far  behind  her,  she  did  not  dare. 


78  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Going  rapidly  down  the  sanded  walk  and  out  into 
the  road,  Phil  took  care  to  avoid  the  heavy,  dew-hung 
grass,  spread  with  square  white  cobwebs,  exactly 
like  Annunciata's  filet  lace.  She  paused  and  re- 
garded them  gravely,  and  then  sighed,  recalling  her 
promise  and  thinking  of  the  friend  she  was  forced 
to  give  up  for  ever.  It  gave  her  a  melancholy  pleas- 
ure to  reflect  that  no  one,  not  even  Mrs.  Merrill, 
could  prevent  her  from  passing  in  front  of  Annun- 
ciata's home. 

Her  pulses  beat  a  little  quicker  as  she  approached 
it.  No  smoke  was  rising  from  the  single  chimney, 
therefore  the  entire  family  must  still  be  asleep. 

Philomel  was  directly  in  front  of  the  two  charred 
gateposts,  and  had  abandoned  all  hopes  of  seeing  any 
of  the  Italians,  when  she  heard  a  low,  gentle  voice 
call,  "  Buon  Jiorno,  Signoria.  Good  morning." 

Phil  stood  still.  Not  for  an  army  of  stepmothers, 
all  in  malignant  pursuit,  could  she  have  helped  stop- 
ping. She  looked  eagerly  inward  in  search  of  the 
speaker. 

There,  on  a  three-legged  stool  to  the  east  of  the 
house,  sat  Annunciata.  The  risen  sun  seemed  to 
linger  upon  her,  forming  a  halo  of  brightness  over 
the  smoothly  parted  hair.  The  orange-colored  ker- 
chief, with  its  border  of  purple  roses,  showed  above 
the  gray  folds  of  an  old  blanket,  for  the  early  morn- 
ing was  chill.  In  one  hand  was  a  small  wooden 
hoop,  in  the  other  a  needle,  with  a  long,  and  from 
this  distance  invisible,  thread. 

Annunciata  rose,  stuck  the  needle  into  the  lace, 


ANNUNCIATA'S  SECRET        79 

and  with  a  finger  on  her  red  lips,  came  swiftly  out 
to  the  gate.  Philomel's  heart  fluttered  and  stirred 
before  the  Italian  girl's  beauty.  "  Oh,  she  is 
lovely !  "  thought  Phil.  "  Lovelier  even  than  my 
handkerchief  box,  'cause  this  one  can  show  her  white 
teeth."  All  at  once  the  American's  eyes  stung  with 
tears,  just  because  Annunciata  was  so  exquisite. 

When  the  two  friends  met,  and  exchanged  further 
greetings,  Phil  questioned,  "  Do  you  always  get  up 
so  awful  early,  'Nunciata  ? " 

"  Yes,  but  please  speak  in  a  whisper,"  said  the 
young  lacemaker,  with  an  apprehensive  turn  of  her 
face  toward  the  house.  "  This  is  the  time  that  I  do 
my  finest  filet.  I  have  an  order  for  eight  pieces,  but 
it  is  a  secret." 

"  Oh,  what  is  the  secret  ?  I'll  never  tell,  'Nun- 
ciata.  Cross  my  heart  I  won't,"  pleaded  Phil. 

"  'Course  you  won't.  It's  this,"  and  Annunciata 
held  the  small  hoop  closer.  "  You  see  how  much 
finer  this  lace  is  than  the  piece  the  Madre  made  me 
show  you  ?  "  As  she  spoke,  the  dark  head  was  bent 
again,  and  the  needle  recommenced  its  dexterous 
weaving  to  and  fro. 

"  I  can  see  that  it  is,"  cried  Phil.  "  How  won- 
derful !  I  wish  I  could  do  lace  like  that." 

"  I'd  be  glad  to  teach  you,"  said  Annunciata 
eagerly.  But  Phil  drew  back.  The  remembered 
promise  to  her  stepmother  sounded  like  a  distant 
church  bell  tolling  for  a  funeral. 

"I  —  I  —  can't,"  she  stammered.  "  I  never 
could  do  work  like  that.  Grandma  tried  to  teach 


80  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

me  tatting,  but  the  thread  always  twisted  up  into 
knots." 

In  speaking,  her  little  body  had  been  twisting  too, 
not  unlike  the  tatting  thread  she  spoke  of.  Was 
she  breaking  her  promise  merely  by  stopping  at  the 
gate?  Cousin  Betty  had  made  it  very  clear  how 
necessary  it  was  for  a  thoroughbred,  as  she  called  it, 
to  keep  absolutely  a  given  word. 

Annunciata  must  have  noticed  the  change,  for 
now  she  looked  up  and  said  hospitably,  "  Won't  you 
come  in  and  sit  on  the  porch?  If  we  talk  low,  we 
needn't  wake  the  children.  You  see,  this  is  my  only 
time  for  doing  the  fine  lace,  and  I've  got  to  finish 
eight  pieces  before  Cristofo's  birthday." 

"  ~No,  I  can't  come  in.  I  can't  pass  through  those 
posts,"  replied  Phil,  and  immediately  her  conscience 
lightened.  "  Who  is  Cristofo,  and  why  does  he 
want  eight  pieces  of  lace  for  his  birthday  ? " 

The  other  laughed  softly,  and  leaned  against  one 
of  the  charred  posts.  The  blanket  had  slipped  down 
to  the  earth,  and  the  consequent  blackening  and 
damage  to  her  pretty  kerchief  did  not  seem  to 
trouble  Annunciata  in  the  least. 

"  Cristofo  is  my  brother,  my  big  brother,"  an- 
swered she,  the  light  upon  her  face  deepening  into 
tenderness.  "  He  is  so  good  and  brave,  is  our  Cris- 
tofo, and  so  strong.  He  can  carry  me  in  his  arms  as 
if  I  were  a  "bambino," 

"  Could  he  lift  me  in  his  arms  ?  "  cried  Phil  in- 
stantly. "  I  am  awfully  heavy." 

"He    can    lift    even    the    Madre,"    Annunciata 


ANNUNCIATA'S  SECRET        81 

boasted.  "  He  works  in  a  store  in  the  city,  where 
he  lifts  great  boxes  and  drives  them  about  in  a 
wagon,  oh,  a  wagon  bigger  than  our  whole  house  1 " 

Phil's  eyes  distended. 

"  That's  what  makes  him  strong,"  nodded  Annun- 
ciata  sagely.  "  But  he  will  not  always  be  the  driver 
in  a  cart.  No,  indeed!  When  my  brother  grows 
up,  he  is  to  be  a  famous  sculptor." 

"  What  is  a  sculptor  ?  "  demanded  Phil. 

"A  person  who  makes  beautiful  things  out  of 
clay,"  explained  the  sister  of  Cristofo.  "  Do  you 
see  this  lion,  "  she  asked,  holding  up  her  square  of 
lace. 

"Yes,"  replied  Phil  doubtfully.  "But  I  never 
knew  that  lions  had  wings,  and  wore  crowns  on  their 
heads." 

"  Oh,  but  this  is  a  holy  lion, —  a  lion  of  San 
Marco.  They  always  wear  crowns." 

Phil  was  silent  if  not  convinced. 

"  Well,"  hurried  on  Annunciata,  who  loved  to 
talk  of  the  absent  brother,  "  Cristofo  can  take  just 
a  heap  of  common  earth  and  from  it  make  a  lion  like 
this  so  natural  that  you'd  think  every  minute  he'd 
spread  his  wings  and  fly  away." 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  breathed  the  listener,  now  quite  over- 
come. 

"  It  is  true,  and  at  night  in  the  city,  when  the 
hard  day  of  driving  is  over,  my  brother  works  in 
the  shop  of  an  Italian  image-man.  They  make 
beautiful  Madonnas,  like  the  one  on  our  mantel,  and 
St.  Joseph,  and  St.  Ann,  mother  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 


82  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

gin,  and  —  and  all  of  our  saints.  He  can  do  any- 
thing, our  Cristofo  can,"  the  proud  sister  declared, 
beaming  with  pride. 

"  His  own  special  saint  is  St.  Cristofo,"  she  added, 
and  holding  the  hoop  with  its  needle  out  to  the  left, 
with  her  right  hand  crossed  herself  piously.  "  The 
day  of  his  festa  is  July  the  twenty-fourth,  and  that 
is  my  brother's  birthday.  You  see  now  why  I  get 
up  in  the  dawn,  so  that  the  lace  may  be  finished." 

"  Then  you'll  sell  all  your  lace  to  buy  Cristofo's 
birthday  present,"  Philomel  stated  rather  than  in- 
quired. 

"That's  just  it,"  the  other  girl  nodded.  "He 
must  have  a  real  festa,  and  for  it  we  must  buy  many 
candles,  and  the  fine  olive  oil  that  he  loves,  and  eggs, 
—  many  eggs, —  for  the  making  of  a  great  cake,  and 
spaghetti,  and  onions,  and  also  a  small  offering  for 
the  poor,  in  the  name  of  the  Blessed  St.  Cristofo." 

Phil  stared.  An  offering  for  the  poor!  Surely 
Annunciata  must  be  joking.  Were  not  the  Bertol- 
lottis  themselves  wretchedly  poor  ?  Mrs.  Merrill,  as 
well  as  Rebecca,  had  said  they  were  beggars. 

"But  where,  in  a  little  place  like  Kington,  will 
you  get  anybody  to  buy  such  fine  lace  ?  "  Phil  asked 
hurriedly,  and  was  glad  that  so  practical  a  question 
had  flashed  to  her  mind  before  Annunciata  had  no- 
ticed her  wonder. 

The  young  Italian  let  her  hands  fall.  On  her 
face  grew  a  new  sort  of  triumph.  "  That  is  the  best 
of  this  work,"  she  declared.  "  The  eight  pieces  are 
already  ordered.  Last  year  in  the  convent  I  did 


ANNUNCIATA'S  SECRET        83 

some  for  the  same  kind  lady,  and  now  she  wants 
more." 

"  Does  she  live  'round  here,  'Nunciata  ?  " 

"  Sister  Agatha  Mary  told  me  it  wasn't  far  from 
Kington.  But  in  plenty  of  time,  before  the  last 
square  is  finished,  I  shall  have  a  letter  from  Sister 
Agatha  Mary  giving  me  the  address.  The  lady's 
name  is  something  with  a  '  hop  '  to  it.  Doesn't  that 
sound  funny  ?  " 

"  Not  Hopkins  —  not  Mrs.  Hopkins !  " 

"  Si  —  si  —  that's  the  name  —  it  ees  Hopkins," 
cried  the  other,  forgetting,  in  her  answering  excite- 
ment, to  be  careful  of  the  American  speech.  "  Why 
do  you  look  so  strange?  Why  do  your  eyes  get  so 
bright,  Feelo-mel  mia? " 

"  Because,"  and  Phil  caught  the  astonished  girl 
by  the  arm  to  pull  her  face  about,  "  I  can  show  you 
the  house  where  Mrs.  Hopkins  is  living.  See  that 
high  tower  poking  up  over  the  trees  on  the  hills  ?  " 

"Si, —  si"  Annunciata  replied  breathlessly. 

"And  you  see  the  stone  wall  starting  from  right 
there  at  your  corner  ?  " 

"  The  wall  all  covered  with  thorns  ?  " 

"  The  wall  and  that  house  are  Mrs.  Hopkins' !  " 
announced  Phil,  making  dramatic  gestures  toward 
them.  "  Now  what  are  you  going  to  say,  'Nunci- 
ata?" 

But  to  the  American  girl's  surprise,  her  companion 
had  nothing  to  say.  Instead  the  smooth  eyelids  fell 
slowly,  while  her  lips  began  to  murmur  a  prayer, 
of  which  the  only  audible  word  was  "  Madonna." 


84  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

When  Annunciata  opened  her  eyes,  she  met  Phil's 
intent  gaze  fixed  upon  her.  "  I  was  thanking  the 
Blessed  Virgin,"  she  smiled,  "  not  only  because  the 
kind  lady  is  near,  but  also  for  giving  me  a  good 
friend  like  you." 

Phil  gulped,  and  her  happy  face  darkened.  The 
change  was  so  sudden  and  unmistakable  that  Annun- 
ciata cried  out,  "  Did  I  say  anything  wrong  ?  Do 
you  not  care  to  hear  me  speak  of  our  Blessed  Vir- 
gin? I  know  some  American  children  are  like 
that." 

"No,  you  didn't  say  nothing  wrong,"  answered 
Phil  in  miserable  embarrassment.  "  It  was  only  — 
I  —  just  seem  to  remember  something  I'd  forgot. 
I  must  be  going  now;  my  dog  is  down  at  the  beach, 
waiting.  Good-by,  'Nunciata,  good-by ! "  Impul- 
sively she  threw  both  red-jacketed  arms  around  her 
friend,  and  kissed  the  smooth  brown  cheek. 
"  Good-by,"  she  whispered  again,  her  voice  catching, 
and  then,  tearing  herself  away,  ran  down  Bible 
Eoad. 

The  Italian  girl's  luminous  eyes  followed  on  to 
the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  beyond  it.  A  radiant  love 
shone  out  from  their  dark,  serene  depths.  When 
Phil  had  entirely  vanished  from  sight,  Annunciata 
stared  once  more  up  to  the  Hopkins'  tall  tower. 
She  crossed  herself  slowly,  and  with  the  whole  of 
her  gentle  heart  steeped  in  thankfulness,  she  went 
back  towards  her  hideous  home. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

BREAKFAST  WITH  MA  COMFOKT 

THE  white  and  green  houseboat  gleamed  as  if 
the  soft  night  had  first  sponged  it,  and  after- 
wards added  a  new  coat  of  polish. 

While  yet  at  a  distance  Phil  could  see  Mrs.  Gid- 
dings  leaning  far  over  the  rail  of  the  rear  deck, 
scraping  out  the  bottom  of  a  black  iron  pot,  in  which 
she  had  been  boiling  hominy  for  breakfast. 

From  the  sand  bank  near  by  a  number  of  ex- 
pectantly squawking  fowls  hurled  themselves  down 
in  a  three-cornered  flock,  the  pointed  end  of  the  flut- 
tering wedge  being  set  toward  the  scrapings. 

To  the  accompanying  rasp  of  her  spoon  against 
hollow  metal,  Ma  sang,  in  a  voice  peculiarly  throaty 
and  plaintive: 

"  'Twas  a  kam,  still  night 

And  the  moo-hoon's  pale  light 
Shon'  soft  o'er  hill  and  vale 

Where  friends  mute  with  grief 
Stood  aroun'  the  death  bed 

Of  my  poor  lost  Lilly  Dale." 

"  Here,  there !  You  bullyin'  red  rooster !  "  the 
singer  interrupted  herself  long  enough  to  call  down 
sharply,  "  you  stop  shovin'  them  hens !  First  thing 
you  know  you'll  find  yourself  bilin'  for  pie  in  this 


86  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

same  pot.  Take  that !  "  and,  with  the  word  "  that," 
a  hot  spoonful  of  the  cereal  landed  squarely  between 
the  cock's  jostling  wings.  "  I  guess  that  dose  will 
fix  you  for  a  while,  you  green-tailed  old  glutton," 
remarked  Ma,  and  then,  with  the  smile  still  on  her 
face,  pitched  her  voice  back  into  its  mournful 
cadence,  and  wailed  forth  the  chorus: 

"  Oh,  Lilly,—  Swe-e-e-t  Lilly 

Dee-year  Lilly  Dale, 

Now  the  wild  rose  blossoms  o'er  the  little  green  grave 
'Neath  the  trees  in  the  flow'ry  vale." 

Suddenly  catching  sight  of  the  little  girl,  Mrs. 
Giddings'  mouth  remained  open  with  astonishment, 
then  widened  to  a  pleasant  smile  as  she  cried  out, 
"  Well,  sakes  alive !  If  here  ain't  an  early  bird 
cheepin'.  Run  away  from  your  own  house  agin',  I 
suspicion,"  she  added,  but  on  her  face  and  in  her 
rich,  hearty  tones  there  lurked  no  hint  of  reproof. 

"  Run  right  round  by  the  front  steps,  dearie,"  she 
beamed.  "  You've  jest  come  on  the  notch  to  have 
a  bite  of  vittles  with  me  and  John  Giddin's.  How 
do  hominy  with  frizzled  bacon  and  eggs  sound  to 
your  innards,  little  gran'-darter  ? " 

"They  sound  good!"  responded  Phil  fervently. 
"  My  old  stepmother  sent  me  to  bed  last  night  with- 
out any  supper,  and  I'm  starving." 

Ignoring  Ma's  suggestion  to  enter  by  the  front 
steps  Phil  threw  herself  flat  to  the  wharf,  face  down- 
wards, and  began  wriggling  her  thin  legs  outward 
and  backward  over  the  poop. 


BREAKFAST  WITH  MA         87 

Ma,  laughing,  reached  up  to  assist.  "  There,  my 
lady-bird !  "  she  exclaimed,  setting  the  child  down 
by  her  side,  and  leaning  over,  she  gave  to  each  cheek 
an  echoing  kiss. 

Phil  had  never  been  demonstrative,  not  even  with 
her  beloved  Cousin  Betty.  Her  recent  impetuous 
embrace  to  Annunciata  had  been  by  way  of  farewell. 
Yet  now,  throwing  both  arms  about  Ma  Comfort,  she 
enclosed  that  stout  form  in  a  passionate  caress. 
Yes,  after  all,  it  was  Ma  she  loved  the  best, —  better 
than  Pa.  One  could  scarcely  have  squeezed  Pa 
Giddings,  his  bones  might  have  cracked.  But  to 
hug  Ma  was  very  like  hugging  a  warm,  sweet,  soft 
cake, —  she  was  so  kind,  so  comforting  and  so 
dear. 

After  another  resounding  caress,  Mrs.  Giddings 
pushed  Phil  gently  away,  and  holding  her  out  at 
arm's  length  demanded,  "  What  you  done,  little  girl, 
to  lead  your  stepma  to  sendin'  you  to  bed  without 
no  supper  ? " 

In  an  outburst  of  phrases,  which  for  haste  and 
impetuosity  could  scarcely  be  exceeded  by  the 
"  Madre,"  Phil  imparted  the  story  of  the  Bartollottis, 
of  their  weariness  and  hunger,  their  grief  when  the 
salt  for  their  polenta  was  missing,  and  then  of  the 
food  she,  Phil,  had  been  tempted  to  take  them.  She 
recalled  and  repeated  all  of  the  cruel  things  said  by 
Rebecca  and  Mrs.  Merrill,  not  merely  about  the 
Italians,  but  also  in  rebuke  to  herself.  Only  just 
at  the  last  some  instinct  withheld  her  from  relating 
the  final  scene,  in  which  she  had  given  her  step- 


S8  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

mother  the  promise  never  again  to  go  near  the  Bible 
Road  shanty. 

Ma  listened  in  hard-held  silence.  Her  round  face 
grew  redder  and  redder.  More  than  once  she  had 
to  bite  on  her  lips  to  keep  back  the  angry  words  that 
sprung  to  them.  She  knew  that  it  was  wrong  to 
encourage  the  child  in  disliking  her  stepmother,  but 
the  restraint  took  all  of  the  good  soul's  control. 

Nothing  in  her  generous  eyes  could  have  been 
quite  so  criminal  as  sending  a  little  girl  supperless 
to  bed,  but  she  contented  herself  with  muttering 
"  scratch-cats,  and  scrawney  old  shrimps  "  under  her 
breath. 

"  "What  a  darling  little  back  gallery  this  is !  "  ex- 
claimed Phil,  looking  about  her. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Ma  with  complacency.  "  I  calls 
it  my  back  kitchin  porch,  and  that's  what  it  is ;  but 
that  old  sailonnan,  John  Giddin's,  he  allows  as  it's 
the  '  poop.'  You  can't  hardly  break  a  parrot  from 
cussin',  nor  a  seafarin'  man  from  considerin'  the 
whole  world  his  boat." 

Whatever  its  real  name,  the  spot  was  a  cheerful 
one.  All  about,  outside  of  the  railings,  ran  shelves 
for  the  sunning  and  drying  of  dishes.  There  was 
even  a  sink,  to  which  water  had  been  run  in  pipes 
from  the  village. 

Over  it  all,  Pa  had  recently  put  into  place  a  wide 
summer  awning,  made  of  patched  sails  and  upheld 
by  a  framework  of  slim  masts  rescued  from  drift- 
wood, which  were  set  in  sand  at  some  little  distance 
from  the  boat. 


BREAKFAST  WITH  MA         89 

To  the  foot  of  the  poles  richer  earth  had  been 
brought,  and  seeds  planted.  Already  a  circle  of 
vines  at  each  base  was  beginning  to  do  upward  hand- 
springs of  green. 

"What  are  they?  What  kinds  of  vines  did  you 
plant,  Mrs.  Giddings  ? "  asked  Phil,  balancing  her- 
self far  over  the  railing  to  peer  down.  "  They  look 
to  me  sorter  like  butter-bean  vines." 

Ma  gave  a  swift  glance  where  the  child  pointed. 
"  Oh,  them,"  she  said  carelessly,  "  no,  they  ain't 
limas.  When  I  lets  eatin'  things  grow  that  near  my 
house  they  has  to  have  flowers  on  them  too.  Them 
top  ones  you  see,  gallopin'  highest,  is  called  scarlet 
runners,  and  the  dear  knows  that  the  name  suits 
them  well.  Almost  before  the  seeds  is  well  in  the 
ground  they  starts  sprouting  and  if  you  stay  there 
long  enough,  they  bears  beans  while  you  waits." 

Phil  answered  the  smile  of  mirthful  exaggeration. 
"And  those  pale,  fuzzy  leaves,  with  white 
splotches  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Them  is  Japanese  mornin'-glories.  They  can 
climb,  too, —  pritty  things  that  they  be!  But  John 
tells  me  that  Japanese  legs  is  some  shorter  than 
'Mericans, —  and  maybe  that  is  the  reason  the  Japs 
never  quite  catches  up." 

Phil  continued  to  gaze  down  admiringly.  "  We 
never  had  either  of  those  sorts  of  vines  at  my  home,'* 
she  announced.  "  But  we  had  cypress,  and  dish-rag 
gourds,  and  plain  morning-glories." 

"I  got  all  them  seeds,"  declared  Ma.  "  They's 
hid  sumwheres  away  in  a  cracked  teapot.  My 


90  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

trouble  about  here  is  mainly  in  not  havin'  enough 
plantin'  room.  But,  mercy  me !  "  she  broke  off, 
"  this  ain't  cookin'  John  breakfast !  Pa  Giddin's  is 
settin'  in  there  by  the  cabin  table,  all  alone  by  hisself, 
jest  patiently  yearnin'.  'Spose  you  prance  in,  little 
gran'darter,"  the  cook  slyly  suggested,  "  and  keep 
company  with  poor  Uncle  John." 

Phil  flaunted  her  skirts,  thereby  showing  that  she 
had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  "  prancing." 
"  No,  I  want  to  stay  right  out  here  with  you,"  she 
cried  wilfully.  "  And  I  want  to  see  Laddie.  Pa 
said  I  could  see  him  this  morning.  Where  is  my 
Laddie?" 

"  To  his  island,  of  course,"  replied  Ma.  "  The 
sun  ain't  more'n  up  yet,  my  lambkin.  Pa'll  row 
over  and  fetch  him  to  you  first  thing  after  break- 
fast. Poor  Ma  Giddin's  couldn't  have  cooked  or 
set  her  table,  or  nothin',  with  that  dog's  tail  swishin' 
about  like  the  limb  of  a  tree !  " 

Phil's  eyes  sparkled  at  the  picture.  "All  right, 
then,"  she  agreed.  "I'll  wait,  but  I  want  Pa  to 
take  me  over  after  Laddie,  in  the  rowboat." 

Ma  seemed  not  to  hear  this  remark.  "  Now,  next 
thing  is  to  fry  these  nice  eggs,"  she  announced.  "  I 
know  they  is  fresh,  'cause  I've  took  them  out  of  the 
nests  this  same  mornin'.  I  must  show  you  where 
the  nests  is,  little  Phil." 

"Oh,  please!"  The  child  danced.  "Show  me 
quick.  Me  and  'Lijah  used  to  gather  all  the  eggs 
up  at  Grandma's." 

The  frying  pan  sent  out  a  sudden  ferocious  sput- 


BREAKFAST  WITH  MA         91 

tering  as  an  egg  was  dropped  in.  Ma  drew  back, 
and  flung  up  an  elbow  to  avoid  the  hot,  flying  par- 
ticles of  grease. 

"  Take  the  egg  shells  up,  dearie,"  she  said,  "  and 
carry  them  out  to  the  garbage  pail  on  the  porch,  for 
your  Ma  Comfort." 

Phil  set  the  white  concaves  one  into  another,  and 
had  reached  the  small  kitchen  door  when,  with  a  low 
cry  of  surprise  and  of  pleasure,  she  drew  back. 

Ma  looked  around  swiftly.  "  Oh,  my  squirrels," 
she  smiled.  "  My  shadow  children.  They  gallops 
over  this  place  all  the  day.  The  hens  had  jest 
skeered  them  when  you  came  up,  but  they  don't  stay 
off  long.  Ain't  they  darlin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  they  are,"  whispered  Phil,  now  fearful 
of  disturbing  them.  "  But  why  do  you  call  them 
'  shadow  children/  Ma  Comfort  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  see  for  yourself  ?  "  said  Ma.  "  They 
is  exactly  the  color  of  tree  trunks  and  shadows. 
The  dear  Lord,  He  made  them  that  way,  so's  they 
could  hide  theirselves  easy.  But  nobody  don't 
trouble  them  round  here,  you  can  bet.  Sometimes 
when  I'm  settin'  out  there  in  the  cabin,  knittin'  Pa's 
socks,  they  comes  in  at  the  back,  an'  creeps  the 
whole  length  of  the  gangway  to  find  me.  Onst  a 
little  wee  fellow  got  hisself  all  twisted  up  in  my 
yarn.  I  guess  he  thought  'twas  another  gray  squir- 
rel in  the  makin'.  He  rolled  over  and  over,  and 
squeaked  like  a  mouse.  I  most  split  my  two  sides 
a-laughin'." 

"  Oh,  oh,"  wondered  Phil,  "  I  wish  I  had  seen 


92  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

him!  I  wish  one  would  come  in  right  now  and 
crawl  all  over  me." 

"You  be  patient  and  gentle,"  said  Ma,  "and 
some  day  they  will.  Is  your  egg  shells  dumped 
yit?" 

Phil,  stepping  cautiously,  moved  out  to  the  gar- 
bage bucket.  In  an  instant  she  was  back,  her  head 
hung  dejectedly.  "  They  ran  off,"  she  announced  in 
a  tone  of  despair.  "  They  just  kicked  up  their  heels 
and  ran  off,  and  I  wasn't  going  to  do  a  thing  to 
them." 

"  They  can't  know  that  yit,"  soothed  Ma  Com- 
fort. "  It  won't  take  them  long  to  sense  your  kindly 
intentions,  for  they's  got  a  whole  passel  o'  gumption, 
them  little  gray  people. 

"  Sometimes,  when  I'm  lonesome,  I  talk  out  loud 
to  them.  Pa  ketched  me  at  it  oust,"  Mrs.  Giddings 
went  on,  smiling  at  the  recollection.  "  And  he  tried 
to  be  teasin',  sayin'  that  some  fine  day  one  of  them 
would  up  and  talk  back  at  me." 

Phil  stared  wonderingly  at  her.  "But  all  ani- 
mals can  talk  once  every  year.  Don't  you  remem- 
ber?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  On  the  eve  of  the  Christ 
Child's  birth,"  and  Mrs.  Giddings'  voice  expressed 
much  self-contempt  that  she  could  have  forgotten 
anything  so  important. 

"  I  know  it's  true,"  Phil  hurried  on,  "  because 
once  me  and  'Lijah  tried  it!  " 

"  You  tried  it ! "  echoed  Ma,  looking  a  little 
startled. 


BREAKFAST  WITH  MA         93 

"  Yes,  that  is,  'Lijah  did.  But  it  was  me  that 
told  him  to.  One  Christmas  eve  he  went  out  into 
the  stable,  and  slept  with  his  goat, —  it's  a  big  billy 
goat  named  Miss  Rosa, —  and  just  as  the  clock 
struck  twelve,  the  goat  sat  up  and  began  talking  as 
plain  as  you  and  me." 

"  Bless  my  soul ! "  cried  Ma,  now  thoroughly 
aroused. 

"  Honest,  I  hope  to  die !  "  Phil  emphasized,  mak- 
ing a  tiny  cross  over  her  heart.  "He  said  that 
'Lijah  would  surely  grow  up  to  be  a  great  big  man ; 
and  would  turn  as  white  as  me ;  and  have  a  big  gold 
front  tooth,  and  always  wear  yellow  shoes  on  his 
foots,  his  feet,  I  mean,"  she  corrected.  "  Mammy 
and  'Lijah  always  calls  them  '  foots.' ' 

Ma's  face  became  very  red.  She  was  trying  not 
to  break  into  loud  laughter.  Suddenly  the  whole 
place  was  full  of  a  black  stinging  smoke.  "  Laws 
V  mercy !  "  wailed  the  cook,  "  there's  all  my  eggs 
burnin'  to  a  cinder."  She  snatched  the  skillet  off 
of  the  fire  and  ran  out  to  the  poop. 

But  very  little  damage  had  been  done.  Only  one 
white  and  gold  egg  was  spoiled.  In  a  few  minutes 
breakfast  was  on  the  table,  and  three  bright,  con- 
tented faces  bent  over  it,  to  Pa's  simple  prayer, 
"  Thank  you,  dear  Father,  for  this  food,  and  for  all 
other  blessings,  in  the  Name  of  your  Son,  our 
Friend  and  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ.  Amen." 

Never  was  there  such  soft,  delicious  hominy, 
never  such  savory  eggs,  nor  bacon  so  crackly  and  so 
sweet !  Instead  of  the  big  cup  of  coffee  such  as  she 


94  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

and  Pa  were  drinking,  Ma  Comfort  had  set  out  for 
Phil  an  old-fashioned  goblet  of  milk. 

The  child  pushed  it  away.  "  I  don't  like  milk," 
she  said  a  little  fretfully. 

Mrs.  Giddings  looked  incredulous.  "!N"ot  like 
this  milk !  "  she  cried,  as  if  in  pained  astonishment. 
"And  it  come  from  the  gentlest,  the  purtiest  cow 
in  all  the  world.  She  is  brown  as  a  chipmunk,  and 
her  eyes  is  as  big  and  lovin'  as  them  of  the  little 
Eye-talian  girl  you've  been  talkin'  about." 

"It-talian,  not  Eye-talian,"  Phil  corrected,  her 
eyes  fixed  dreamily  upon  her  goblet. 

Ma  winked  across  slyly  at  John. 

"  That  sweet-tempered  cow,"  the  wheedler  went 
on,  as  if  to  the  air.  "  She's  the  best  friend  and 
only  support  of  an  old,  old  lady,  Mis'  Gray,  what 
lives  a  piece  down  Beach  Avenue.  We  furnishes 
her  fish,  clams,  and  oysters,  and  in  paymint,  she 
let  us  have  more  milk  than  we  need.  She's  a  God- 
fearin'  soul,  is  Mis'  Gray.  And  wouldn't  she  and 
her  cow  feel  jest  turrible,  if  they  knew  at  this  min- 
ute that  Ma's  little  girl  was  a-turnin'  her  purty  nose 
up  at  their  milk.  Tcht,  tcht,  it's  too  bad,"  con- 
cluded Mrs.  Giddings,  with  a  sigh. 

Phil  suddenly  lifted  her  glass,  and  took  a  long 
draught. 

"  Why,  it  is  good,"  she  confessed.  "  I  didn't 
know  I  liked  milk  at  all.  I  never  would  drink  it 
for  Cousin  Betty.  I  reckon  Miss  Gray's  cow  must 
be  different  from  our  old  red  muley."  Over  the 
small  childish  mouth,  was  a  dripping  moustache  of 


BREAKFAST  WITH  MA         95 

milk  well  mingled  with  cream.  Ma  and  Pa  chuckled 
until  the  cabin  boards  shook. 

"  Now,"  remarked  Mrs.  Giddings,  wiping  her  eyes 
on  her  napkin,  "  don't  you  want  to  tell  me  and  Pa 
somethin'  more  'bout  your  new  friends  the  Eye-  the 
It-alians,"  she  hastily  amended. 

Nothing  loath,  Phil  recounted  her  adventures  to 
Uncle  John. 

"  If  it  warn't  for  that  turrible  furrin  name  to 
them,"  complained  Ma  in  a  troubled  way,  "  I  don't 
b'leeve  I  can  ever  get  it.  Berry-loni  —  Betty- 
lokki— " 

"  But  Ma,"  broke  in  Phil,  "  it's  not  one  bit  hard 
when  'Nunciata  shows  you.  Look,  I'll  spell  it  out 
here  on  the  table  with  my  fingers.  It's  like  this, 
Ber  —  tol  —  lot  —  tee  in  four  parts.  That's  not  so 
hard  now,  is  it,  Pa  Giddings  ?  " 

"  Easy  as  skeerin'  minnows/'  Pa  agreed  amiably. 

Mrs.  Giddings'  attention  had  drifted  away  from 
instruction.  Her  light-brown  eyes  were  fixed 
thoughtfully  on  space.  "  I  shouldn't  much  won- 
der," she  mused,  speaking  aloud,  "  if  I  didn't  drop 
into  them  Eyetalians  later  on,  when  I  goes  to  the 
village.  There's  some  shoppin' —  Yes,  I'll  drop 
in,  jest  to  show  them  that  they  is  some  has  a  warm 
welcome  to  give  them.  What  you  think  about  it, 
John?" 

The  man  who,  unnoticed,  had  been  watching  his 
wife's  kindly  face,  answered  heartily,  "  I  think  it's 
jest  right.  I  want  you  should  do  it.  What  I'm 
puzzlin'  myself  over  is  this," — here  his  corn-flower 


96  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

blue  eyes  began  to  twinkle,  "whether,  when  you 
starts,  there  mout  be,  by  some  merricle  as  it  ware,  a 
big  basket  slung  to  your  left  arm." 

"  You  get  right  outter  this  house,  old  John  Gid- 
din's !  "  cried  his  wife,  the  point  of  her  breakfast 
knife  held  threateningly  toward  him.  "You  is 
everlastin'ly  tryin'  to  tease  me  about  that  basket. 
I'd  jest  like  to  ask  who  is  the  quickest  to  cram  it, 
when  I'm  gettin'  ready  to  take  it  abroad  ? " 

John  rose  and  came  around  to  the  speaker.  One 
lean  arm  went  over  her  fat  shoulders.  "  You  know 
it's  all  right,  Comfort  wife,"  he  said  tenderly. 
"  Whatever  you  does,  I'm  with  you, —  and  the 
kinder  to  others  you  be,  the  more  your  old  husband 
dotes  on  you.  God  bless  you,  my  girl." 

The  two  friends  clasped  hands,  and  looked  for  a 
moment  steadily,  one  into  the  eyes  of  the  other. 
Phil  had  a  queer  sensation,  as  of  being  in  church 
when  the  benediction  was  uttered. 

But  now  Pa  was  turning  to  go  out.  Phil  sprang 
after  him,  and  held  tight  to  the  gray  jersey 
sleeve. 

"  Are  you  going  for  Laddie  right  now,  Pa  ? "  she 
asked  breathlessly.  "Won't  you  take  me  —  oh, 
please !  " 

At  the  table  Mrs.  Giddings  cleared  her  throat. 
John's  smile  disappeared.  "  You  must  ask  your 
Ma  Comfort  'bout  that,  little  Miss  Phil,"  he  re- 
joined. "  Ma  bosses  me  and  everything  else  she 
can  reach  to.  What  you  say  'bout  it,  Ma  ?  " 

Ma's  silence  was  ominous.     Phil  turned   slowly 


BREAKFAST  WITH  MA         97 

around.  "  You  did  run  away  agin,  didn't  you  3  " 
inquired  Ma  gravely. 

Phil  hung  her  bright  head  for  reply. 

"  What  time  does  your  folks,  that  is,  Mis'  Merrill 
an'  her  f ambly,  eat  their  breakfast  ?  "  pursued  the 
inquisitor. 

"At  half-past  seven,"  replied  Phil  with  a  glance 
at  the  battered  old  ship  clock  that  hung  over  the 
center  of  the  mantle. 

"  It's  jest  goin'  six  bells,"  declared  Ma,  and,  as  if 
in  instant  obedience,  the  sharp  ting-ting  —  ting-ting, 
rang  out  through  the  cabin. 

"  Yes,  jest  seven,"  said  Mrs.  Giddings.  "  And 
that  gives  you  a-plenty  time  to  get  back  before  they'se 
begun  frettin'.  What  you  think  for  yourself, 
dearie  ?  "  she  smiled. 

"  I  'spose  I  must  go,  though  I  hate  to,"  Phil  mur- 
mured in  a  meek  voice. 

John  went  out.  Ma  put  forth  a  hand  and  drew 
the  child  closer.  "  You'se  a  Lamb  o'  God,  that's 
what  you  is,"  she  said  tenderly.  "  You'se  Ma  Com- 
fort's dear,  good  little  girl.  Now  when  you  gets 
home,  Ma  wants  you  to  walk  right  up  to  your  stepma, 
and  look  into  her  eyes  sweet  and  straight,  like  you'se 
lookin'  in  mine.  Tell  her  jest  where  you'se  been, 
and  ask  her  a  pleasant  good  mornin'.  Will  you  do 
this  for  Ma  2  " 

"Yes  —  yes,  cross  my  heart,  Ma.  I'll  do  any- 
thing you  ask  me,"  cried  Phil,  her  face  glowing. 

Mrs.  Giddings  laughed  as  the  child  went  through 
the  mystic  performance  of  crossing  her  heart.  But 


98  SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Phil  liked  doing  it  now  more  than  ever  before.  It 
seemed  somehow  to  take  her  the  least  bit  nearer  to 
her  lost,  lovely,  new  friend,  Anminciata. 

"  Then  good-by.  Here,  stoop  down,  dearie ;  let 
Ma  straighten  your  tammy-shanty.  You  ain't  no 
shadow  child  in  this  house,  not  much,"  beamed  Ma 
lovingly.  "  You're  a  big  streak  of  sunlight  right 
down  from  the  sky." 


CHAPTER  NINE 

PHIL    IS   PUT   INTO    HAENESS 

WON'T  even  wink  at  the  Bertollotti  house 
when  I  go  past  it  this  time,"  Phil  promised 
herself,  as  she  started  along  Bible  Road  on  her  way 
home.  But  in  spite  of  the  heroic  resolve,  it  was 
impossible  to  prevent  one  glance  from  straying  in 
towards  the  open  door.  What  she  saw  there  made 
her  falter,  and  catch  in  her  breath  with  surprise 
and  delight. 

It  was  the  baby,  the  little  soft  bundle  called  Rosa 
Maria,  whom  she  had  thought  a  mere  infant  of  about 
six  months  of  age,  now  standing  alone,  except  that 
one  tiny  brown  fist  clutched  at  the  door  frame  for 
support. 

"  Rosa  Ma-ree-ya.  Hello  there,  Rosa  Ma- 
ree-ya  ! "  Phil  called  very  softly,  and  waved  her 
right  hand.  The  baby  did  not  attempt  to  wave  back, 
but  the  red  mouth  opened  slowly  and  widened  to  an 
entrancing  smile,  showing  four  tiny  teeth,  as  white 
as  bleached  bits  of  shell  on  the  seashore  from  which 
the  older  girl  was  returning. 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  buy  Rosa  Maria !  "  exclaimed 
Phil  to  herself.  "  They've  got  plenty  of  others  in 
there."  Then  she  sighed  and  reflected,  "  Even  if  I 
had  her,  my  stepmother  would  send  her  away  like 


100          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

she  did  Laddie.  Anyway,  I've  got  Ma  Comfort  and 
Pa  Giddings." 

As  Phil  entered  the  Merrill  dining  room,  she  saw 
that  Edgar  and  his  mother  were  standing  together 
near  the  window.  A  fresh  bandage  had  been  put 
on  the  boy's  injured  hand. 

The  meal  was  not  yet  served,  but  odors  of  coffee 
and  bacon  streaming  in  from  the  kitchen  proclaimed 
that  it  was  all  ready. 

"  Er-hurhn!  old  Miss  Phil,"  Edgar  greeted  her. 
"  You'll  catch  it  good  and  hard  this  time  for  running 
away  again." 

"  Hush,  Edgar,  this  is  none  of  your  affair,"  re- 
proved Mrs.  Merrill.  Her  face,  Phil  had  noticed, 
seemed  unusually  anxious  and  pale.  At  sight  of 
her  stepdaughter  it  had  brightened. 

Phil  marched  straight  up  to  her.  "  Good  morn- 
ing, Mother,"  she  said,  exactly  as  she  had  promised 
Ma  Comfort  to  do  it.  "  I  woke  up  awful  early,  and 
when  I  couldn't  go  back  to  sleep,  I  thought  I'd  go 
down  to  the  beach  to  see  Laddie.  But  I  didn't,  be- 
cause he's  over  on  Treasure  Island.  And  that's  all." 

Mrs.  Merrill  went  direct  to  the  table,  and  sat  in 
her  usual  place.  "  I'm  not  going  to  scold  you  again, 
Philomel,"  she  said  kindly,  "though  I  was  much 
troubled  when  I  heard  you  were  not  in  your  room. 
We  had  better  understand  now,  once  and  for  all,  that 
you  are  never  to  leave  this  house  or  this  yard  with- 
out my  permission.  I  must  know  where  you  are." 

"  Yes'm  —  nome  —  yes'm,"  answered  Phil,  wrig- 
gling. 


PHIL  IS  PUT  INTO  HARNESS     101 

Again  Edgar  jeered.  "  Yes'm  —  nome,  yes'm  — 
nome,"  he  mimicked.  "  What  kind  of  crazy  talk  is 
that  ?  It  sounds  just  like  niggers.  You  talk  like 
a  nigger  talks,  anyway,  Rebecca  said  — " 

"  Edgar !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Merrill  with  asperity, 
"what  on  earth  has  come  over  you  lately;  you  are 
not  the  same  child.  You're  not  to  speak  up  in  that 
rude  way  to  your  sister !  " 

Edgar,  staring  for  a  moment  as  if  not  believing 
his  ears,  rubbed  his  eyes  on  his  sore  hand  and  began 
to  whimper.  Mrs.  Merrill  drew  him  to  her  breast. 
"  There,  there,  Mother  will  not  scold  any  more. 
You  see,  Philomel,  how  sensitive  he  is.  He's  sorry 
already,  aren't  you,  mother's  boy?  We  must  re- 
member how  much  younger  he  is,  and  that  he  has 
never  been  very  strong." 

"  Yes'm,"  growled  Phil. 

"  Really,  Philomel,"  said  the  stepmother,  frown- 
ing slightly,  "  I  would  prefer  that  you  did  not 
say  l  no,  ma'm  '  and  '  yes,  ma'm.'  It  is  not  the  cus- 
tom in  this  part  of  America.  It  would  be  better  for 
you  to  say  merely  '  yes,  mother.' ' 

"  Yes,  Mother,"  the  girl  repeated  wearily. 

Phil  turned,  and  was  moving  toward  the  hall  door, 
when  Rebecca,  entering  from  the  kitchen,  came  for- 
ward with  her  big  japanned  tray. 

"  Stop,  Philomel,"  Mrs.  Merrill  commanded. 
"  You  must  come  and  sit  with  us  quietly  at  the  table, 
though  I  suppose  you  have  already  eaten  at  the 
Giddings'.  That's  right ;  take  your  napkin  from  its 
ring  and  spread  it  on  your  lap." 


102          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Phil  obeyed  in  absolute  silence. 

"  Did  you  have  something  with  the  Giddings  ? " 
Mrs.  Merrill  persisted. 

"  Yes'm  —  yes,  Mother,  I  did,  and  I  can't  eat  a 
thing  now.  May  I  be  excused  ?  " 

"Not  until  your  brother  and  I  have  finished. 
We  did  not  rise  before  dawn,  and  terrify  a  whole 
houseful  of  people.  Stay  right  where  you  are,  and 
don't  sag  over  like  that.  Above  all  things,  don't 
sulk.  I  can't  abide  sulky  children." 

Phil  threw  a  long,  meaning  glance  at  young  Ed- 
gar, who  just  then  was  pouting  because  his  cereal 
did  not  have  enough  sugar,  but  the  girl  held  her 
peace. 

After  breakfast  Mrs.  Merrill  gave  orders  to  the 
two  children.  "  Edgar,  gather  up  some  of  your 
toys,  and  carry  them  out  to  the  piazza  in  the  sun- 
shine. Don't  step  down  to  the  yard  until  the  dew 
has  thoroughly  dried  off.  Philomel,  I  want  you 
should  come  upstairs  with  me." 

The  girl  followed,  wondering  what  was  to  happen 
next  in  the  big,  dreary  house. 

Mrs.  Merrill  led  on  without  delay  to  Phil's 
room. 

"Look  at  that  floor,"  said  the  stepmother,  point- 
ing downwards.  "  It  is  disgraceful !  Pick  those 
clothes  up  and  take  them  out  into  the  hall,  where 
you'll  find  a  laundry  basket  in  one  corner.  Be  sure 
you  shut  down  the  lid." 

Phil  stooped,  caught  up  a  few  pieces  at  random, 
almost  threw  them  at  the  basket,  and  returned. 


PHIL  IS  PUT  INTO  HARNESS     103 

"  Where  is  your  night  dress  ?  Wasn't  it  with 
those  things  on  the  floor  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Merrill. 

"  Nome  —  no,  Mother,  it's  hanging  in  the 
closet." 

Mrs.  Merrill  looked  pleased.  "  That's  where  it 
should  be,  of  course,"  she  remarked  graciously. 
"  But  leaving  your  room  so  early  this  morning,  I 
thought  you  might  have  forgotten  to  hang  it  back 
on  its  hook." 

"  Nome,  I  didn't  forget,"  grinned  Phil  impishly. 
The  grin  proved  to  be  a  sort  of  tonic,  and  she  laughed 
to  herself  as  she  dashed  here  and  there  over  the  floor, 
gathering  up  the  strewn  garments. 

"  You  will  soon  acquire  the  habit  of  neatness, 
Philomel,"  said  the  stepmother  approvingly,  as  she 
noted  in  the  increased  activity.  "  The  next  thing 
we  have  to  do  is  to  make  your  bed." 

Phil  drew  herself  up,  and  stood  gazing  down  at 
the  mattress.  Mrs.  Merrill  stared. 

"  Why  don't  you  begin  ?  Surely  a  great  girl  like 
you  must  know  how  to  do  it !  " 

"I  should  say  that  I  didn't,"  Phil  flaunted. 
"  Real  ladies  don't  ever  make  up  their  beds." 

Mrs.  Merrill's  face  crimsoned.  "  In  this  part  of 
the  world  you  will  find  that  they  frequently  do,"  she 
said  acidly.  "  Furthermore,  you  happen  to  be  one 
of  those  who  have  got  to  learn.  Here,  catch  hold 
of  the  corner  of  that  sheet!  Such  ridiculous  airs! 
In  my  house  little  girls  learn  how  to  be  useful  as 
well  as  happy.  Put  that  pillow  of  yours  in  the 
window  to  sun." 


104          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

When  the  bed  was  smooth,  and  the  whole  room 
aridly  neat,  Mrs.  Merrill  began  a  brief  tour  of  in- 
spection. 

Phil  remained  in  the  exact  center  of  the  ragged 
«arpet,  her  lids  downcast,  her  face  that  of  a  juvenile 
martyr.  She  heard  the  stepmother  come  to  a  pause 
in  front  of  her,  and  knew  quite  well  that  the  con- 
scientious lady  was  puzzled  as  to  what  was  next  to 
come. 

Deliberately,  and  rather  naughtily,  the  scornful 
one  kept  silent.  It  was  only  upon  hearing  a  long, 
troubled  sigh  from  her  companion  that  she  remarked, 
"  Well,  if  I  am  all  through  with  being  a  servant,  I'd 
like  to  stay  up  here  by  myself,  and  finish  unpacking 
my  trunk." 

In  her  relief,  Mrs.  Merrill  let  the  impertinence 
pass  by. 

"  An  excellent  idea,"  she  rejoined.  "  In  your 
unpacking,  be  sure  to  return  to  the  trunk  all  the 
things  you  do  not  need,  and  do  not  leave  them  strewn 
about  your  nicely-swept  floor." 

"  Yes,  Mother,"  said  Phil  demurely. 

When  the  door  closed,  Phil  ran  eagerly  to  the  little 
horsehair  chest,  lifted  the  upper  till,  and  began  a 
furious  scrambling  among  the  tumbled  mass  at  the 
bottom.  She  knew  what  she  was  after,  and  in  an 
instant  drew  it  forth.  It  was  the  handkerchief  box 
"with  the  picture  that  looked  like  Annunciata. 

The  likeness  was  truly  wonderful.  For  a  long, 
long  time  Phil  gazed  upon  it.  Then  she  took  it  to 
her  cheap  dressing  table,  and  set  it  against  the  mir- 


PHIL  IS  PUT  INTO  HARNESS     105 

ror  with  the  same  care  that  Annunciata  had  showed 
in  placing  the  big  blue  and  white  doll. 

The  smiling  face  seemed  to  diffuse  a  sort  of  per- 
fume in  the  bare  little  room.  It  was  as  good  as 
having  a  bunch  of  roses. 

"  If  I  ever  get  any  more  nickels  to  spend,"  said 
the  devout  worshipper  to  herself,  her  eyes  gloating 
over  the  highly  colored  print,  "  I'm  going  to  buy 
two  candles  in  little  glass  candle-sticks,  and  a  white 
shell  with  gold  edges,  to  put  before  my  picture." 

Phil  went  back  to  the  trunk,  and  this  time  ex- 
tracted a  lot  of  battered  and  beloved  fairy  tales. 
For  quite  a  while  she  read,  but  the  birds  in  the  or- 
chard seemed  calling  to  her,  and  the  sunbeams  to  be 
beckoning,  "  come  out." 

She  took  up  one  of  her  favorites,  "  The  Swiss 
Family  Robinson,"  and  tucking  it  under  her  arm 
went  downstairs.  It  was  some  time  before  she  dis- 
covered her  stepmother,  who,  with  Rebecca,  was  in 
the  kitchen  making  chocolate  layer  cake,  while  Ed- 
gar pryed  and  peeped  into  each  sweet-smeared  dish 
and  cooking  vessel. 

Phil  strode  rather  defiantly  up  to  Mrs.  Merrill. 
"  You  don't  let  me  to  go  anywhere  that  I  want  to," 
she  accused,  "  then  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

At  the  moment,  Mrs.  Merrill  was  spreading  a 
layer  with  chocolate,  the  hot  fumes  making  her  eyes 
smart. 

"  Why,  anything  you  like,  Philomel,"  she  an- 
swered in  some  irritation.  "  I  don't  care  what  you 
do,  just  so  long  as  you  do  not  leave  this  lot." 


106          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Can  I  go  down  into  the  orchard  ? "  persisted 
Phil. 

"  Yes  —  yes,  of  course  you  can  go  to  the  orchard. 
It  is  ours." 

"  Can  I  climb  up  into  any  of  the  trees  where  I 
want  to  climb  up  ?  " 

Mrs.  Merrill  laid  down  the  spreading  knife,  and 
sent  a  despairing  look  for  sympathy  toward  grim 
Rebecca. 

"  Yes,  Philomel,"  she  replied.  "  You  can  go  to 
the  orchard,  you  can  climb  any  tree, —  that  is,  if  you 
have  been  brought  up  to  climb.  I  should  never  have 
allowed  a  little  girl  of  mine  to  go  up  into  trees,  like 
a  tomboy.  I  never  let  Edgar  go  either,  but  if  you're 
accustomed  to  — " 

She  was  here  interrupted  by  Edgar's  nasal  pipe. 
"  Tomboy,  tomboy  —  Phil  Merrill's  a  tomboy. 
Ain't  Phil  a  tomboy,  Mommer  ?  " 

Phil,  not  thinking  it  worth  while  to  pause  for  a 
retort,  hurried  out,  the  last  remark  in  her  hearing 
being  one  sourly  uttered  by  Rebecca,  about  "  spiled, 
pestiferous  gal-children." 

Once  out  in  the  green  grass  of  the  orchard,  all  of 
the  stings  and  frets  of  indoors  appeared  to  vanish. 
Wandering  from  tree  to  old  leaning  tree,  Phil  be- 
gan to  hum  under  her  breath,  the  first  verse  of  a 
song  that  Cousin  Betty  loved, 

"  All  in  the  April  morning, 
April  airs  were  abroad ; 
The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 
Pass'd  by  me  on  the  road." 


PHIL  IS  PUT  INTO  HARNESS     107 

"  There  isn't  any  lamb  around,  unless  it's  me," 
Phil  broke  off,  to  say  aloud.  "  Ma  Comfort  called 
me  one,  and  maybe  I  am,"  here  she  stared  critically 
upward  among  the  branches.  "  If  the  flowers  keep 
on  coming  out  this  way,  each  of  the  round  old  trees 
will  look  just  like  a  sheep  with  pink  wool." 

The  child  jumped  up  and  down,  laughing  at  her 
own  fancy. 

"  It  would  be  the  funniest  thing,"  she  rippled, 
"  to  see  a  whole  hillside  of  sheep  with  pink  wool !  " 
With  her  eyes  on  the  trees,  she  strolled  farther  and 
farther.  On  the  slope  of  the  hill,  she  knew  well 
that  each  step  took  her,  not  only  away  from  her 
home,  but,  to  the  same  degree,  closer  to  the  forbid- 
den Bertollottis. 

"  Shucks !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  My  stepmother 
said  just  so's  I  didn't  leave  the  lot.  There  isn't  any 
harm  in  going  to  that  broken-down  stone  fence  where 
I  came  through  yesterday;  and  I'm  going." 


CHAPTER  TEN 

A    BROKEN    BEANCH 

CLOSE  by  this  gap  in  the  stone  wall  through 
which,  only  yesterday,  Phil  had  flown  in  quest 
of  salt,  grew  the  largest  and  most  precariously  out- 
leaning  tree  in  the  whole  orchard. 

From  the  main  trunk  sprang  three  limbs,  one 
much  longer  and  thicker  than  the  others,  and  this 
big  one  seemed  reaching  and  straining  out  toward 
the  Bertollotti  cottage,  as  if  determined  to  pinch  off 
the  perky  red  chimney. 

It  was  from  the  end  of  this  limb  that  a  good  view 
«ould  be  had  right  down  into  the  small,  muddy  clear- 
ing which,  for  the  present,  must  serve  the  Italians 
for  a  back  yard.  And  luckily,  on  this  particular 
branch,  the  foliage  had  grown  thicker,  and  the  blos- 
soms had  opened  more  widely  than  upon  the  other 
trees.  Up  there  a  squirrel  or  a  bird  would  be  in 
safe  hiding.  "  A  bird  or  a  squirrel,"  mused  Phil, 
"  Then  why  not  a  girl  ?  " 

For  a  long  moment  she  stood  silently  "  fighting 
the  rope  of  temptation."  No  telling  what  might  or 
might  not  have  happened,  but,  just  then,  came  the 
loud  ringing  of  the  Merrills'  luncheon  bell. 

Phil  started  at  the  sound,  looked  around  carefully 
over  one  shoulder,  and  deliberately  dropping  her 


A  BROKEN  BRANCH  109 

book,  so  she  would  have  an  excuse  for  returning  to 
the  orchard,  walked  back  to  the  house. 

Throughout  the  austere  meal,  as  she  crunched 
Graham  gems  and  sipped  "  cambric  "  tea,  Phil  con- 
tinued to  think  of  the  long  flower-tipped  limb  that 
reached  out  to  the  little  shanty  in  Bible  Road. 

Edgar,  sickened  with  the  over-sweet  chocolate 
which  he  had  scraped  and  "  licked  "  from  various 
platters  during  the  process  of  cake  making,  now  re- 
fused his  food,  and  crouched  down  in  a  chair,  began 
to  whine. 

Rebecca  and  Mrs.  Merrill  became  anxious.  "  I'll 
declare,"  said  the  mother  plaintively,  "  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  do  about  Edgar.  He  has  no  appetite 
at  all" 

"  That's  because  you  let  him  lick  up  every  scrap 
of  the  chocolate,  and  never  gave  me  even  a 
taste,"  complained  Philomel  with  startling  candor. 
"  There's  a  chunk  on  his  upstairs  lip  right  now.  I 
was  just  dying  for  some,  but  nobody  gave  me  a  bit." 

A  brief,  uncomfortable  silence  followed,  which 
neither  one  of  the  elders  seemed  able  to  break. 

Edgar  sent  out  a  small,  upcurved  tongue  in  quest 
of  the  stray  "  chunk."  After  some  blind  feeling 
about,  the  brown  crumb  was  secured  and  drawn  into 
its  final  cave  of  destruction.  As  he  chewed  the  last 
fragment,  Edgar,  looking  at  Phil,  bleated  seduc- 
tively : 

"  If  you'll  stay  and  play  jacks  with  me  after  din- 
ner, I'll  save  you  half  my  lickings  next  time  they 
is  cake." 


110         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Phil  stopped  munching  her  muffin,  in  order  to 
give  the  proposition  due  thought. 

She  had  intended  going  out  immediately,  yet  on 
the  other  hand,  she  possessed  an  inordinate  love  of 
sweet  "  lickings."  In  Mammy's  big  kitchen  at 
Grandma's  a  certain  lot  of  cake-dough,  jelly,  or  pre- 
serves was  always  left  for  the  one  petted  child  of 
the  household. 

Mrs.  Merrill,  seeing  the  girl  hesitate,  hurried  to 
say,  "  Of  course,  Edgar,  your  sister  will  be  only  too 
glad  to  play  with  you,  won't  you,  Philomel  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  I  reckon,"  answered  Phil,  without  any 
noticeable  ardor.  "  But  I  can't  do  it  for  long,  and 
Edgar  mustn't  forget  about  the  next  lickings.  He'll 
have  to  show  me  how  to  play." 

"  Gee !  "  cried  the  boy,  his  astonishment  making 
his  voice  clear  and  firm.  "  You  don't  know  how ! 
That's  because  you  are  a  girl,  and  girls  ain't  no  good, 
Rebecca  said  so.  Come  'long,  I  can  teach  you  jacks 
in  a  minute." 

In  a  moment  more,  the  jacks  could  Ke  heard 
clicking.  Phil  found  it  quite  an  exciting  game,  but 
at  the  end  of  an  hour  was  beginning  to  long  for  her 
book  and  the  orchard,  when  Edgar,  lifting  his  head, 
cried  out,  "  Gee !  there's  another  Wop  coming.  It's 
a  big  one  too.  Just  you  wait  till  I  pick  up  a  rock 
to  throw  at  him,  walking  past  our  house  like  he 
owned  it,  just  you  wait !  " 

Phil's  eyes  flew  to  the  road.  A  tall,  thin  dark- 
faced  boy  was  moving  rapidly  toward  them.  In  an 
instant  she  knew  who  it  was, —  Annunciata's  adored 


A  BROKEN  BRANCH  111 

big  brother,  tbe  boy  who  drove  a  wagon  as  large  as 
the  Bertollotti  cottage,  and  could  make  images  so 
real  that  they  all  but  took  wing. 

Edgar  had  scrambled  down  the  steps  for  a  stone, 
when  his  sister  hurled  herself  upon  him.  "  Don't 
you  dare  chunk  that  boy ! "  she  cried  angrily. 
"  He's  got  just  as  much  right  on  Bible  Road  as  you 
have.  You  put  down  that  rock." 

For  answer  Edgar  twisted  himself  sidewise  in  the 
approved  attitude  for  "  chunking."  Phil  caught  his 
arm  roughly,  literally  shaking  the  stone  from  his 
grasp. 

"  You  lemme  'lone,  now !  "  Edgar  struggled  and 
screamed,  kicking  viciously  at  his  sister's  legs. 
"  You're  breaking  my  arm ;  you're  hurtin'  my  hand ! 
Mommer !  Mommer !  " 

The  Italian  boy  slackened  his  pace  and  looked  in. 
"  Is  anything  wrong,  Miss  ?  "  he  asked,  touching  his 
cap.  "  Can  I  help  you  with  the  little  fellow  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Phil,  turning  red  with 
shame  and  excitement.  "  He  was  starting  to  throw 
rocks  at  you,  but  I  stopped  him." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all,"  remarked  Cristofo.  His  smil- 
ing face  of  a  minute  before  blackened  under  a  scowl. 

Edgar,  released,  ran  into  the  house,  bellowing  at 
each  step.  "  Mommer,  Phil  hurt  me.  She  twisted 
my  arm,  she  hurt  my  sore  hand  too.  Mommer! 
Oh,  Mommer !  " 

Philomel  scarcely  heard  him.  She  had  seen  Cris- 
tofo. He  had  spoken  to  her,  called  her  "  Miss,"  and 
lifted  his  cap  as  if  she  had  been  a  grown-up  young 


112          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

lady.  This  was  Saturday,  and  he  was  on  his  way 
home. 

Swiftly  as  one  of  Ma  Comfort's  shadow  children, 
Phil  ran  back  into  the  orchard,  sped  straight  to  the 
tree  with  the  great  reaching  branch,  and  began  to 
scramble  up  toward  it.  Once  in  the  crotch  she  stood 
upright,  staring  out  over  the  marsh  to  the  cottage. 
Not  a  soul  was  in  sight,  but  from  within  the  small 
house  came  a  clamor  of  laughter  and  voices. 

Phil  pulled  herself  up  to  the  big  limb,  and  worked 
her  way  along  its  surface,  as  she  had  watched  squir- 
rels do.  From  this  position,  she  could  see  well  down 
into  the  Italian's  bare  expanse  of  a  garden,  but  still 
no  one  came.  She  was  panting  a  little  from  the 
exertion  of  climbing,  and  glad  to  lie  flat  on  the 
branch,  pumping  her  breath  back,  as  'Lijah  would 
have  said. 

The  sounds  from  the  cottage  grew  fainter.  The 
silence  that  hung  in  the  apple  tree  seemed  to  deepen, 
and  now  Phil  could  hear  very  plainly  the  trickle  and 
falling  of  water  as  it  escaped  over  and  through  the 
log  dam  that  held  up  the  Hopkins'  pond. 

Directly  beneath  her,  and  showing  among  stiff 
stems  of  alder  and  willow,  the  dark  water  glinted. 
It  was  just  there  she  had  bogged  only  yesterday. 
She  had  not  dreamed  of  the  hidden  stream,  and 
gazing  down  upon  it,  she  shuddered  at  the  recollec- 
tion. Suppose  she  had  stepped  on  a  snake? 

All  at  once,  in  merry  confusion,  the  entire  Ber- 
tollotti  family  streamed  out  through  the  back  door 
of  the  cottage. 


A  BROKEN  BRANCH          113 

Cristofo  came  first,  and  on  his  shoulder  was 
perched  Rosa  Maria,  one  hand  clutching  deep  in  the 
boy's  black  hair.  All  were  laughing;  all  eyes  were 
turned  to  Cristofo  and  the  baby.  Phil,  in  her  tree, 
laughed  with  them,  though  softly,  so  that  she  might 
not  be  heard. 

The  younger  children  trod  on  the  bare  toes  of 
each  other,  in  their  efforts  to  retain  a  clutch  on  the 
big  brother's  sadly  worn  trousers.  Annunciata  and 
her  mother,  their  arms  about  each  other,  kept  a  little 
in  the  rear. 

The  Madre,  as  if  suddenly  recollecting  something, 
glanced  back  to  the  cottage,  and  then  up  to  the  small 
red  chimney  from  which  issued  a  dense  smoke. 
Phil  could  hear  the  Italian  ejaculations  as,  reaching 
up  for  Rosa  Maria,  she  indicated  that  she  desired  to 
take  the  little  one  indoors  with  her. 

Finally  detaching  the  small,  protesting  thing, 
Mrs.  Bertollotti,  and  then  Annunciata,  covered  her 
with  kisses,  and  all  three  started  toward  the  house. 
Phil  gave  out  a  sigh.  Why  shouldn't  she  be  there 
among  them,  hugging  Rosa  Maria,  and  helping  An- 
nunciata with  the  polenta  ? 

The  three  younger  ones,  Tonio,  Lucia,  and  little 
fat  Hugo,  now  turned  away,  and  made  for  the  red 
bank.  Seeing  Cristofo  alone,  Annunciata  hurried 
back  to  him,  said  something  in  a  low  voice,  and  then, 
taking  his  arm,  led  him  into  the  marsh,  straight  to- 
ward the  apple  tree.  Phil's  heart  bounded  with  ex- 
citement. Yes,  they  were  stopping,  just  beneath  her 
bough. 


114          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Now,"  began  Cristofo,  in  Phil's  own  American 
speech,  "  now  the  kids  can't  hear,  tell  me,  can  you 
manage  to  get  along  in  this  fierce  hole  till  things 
get  a  little  better  for  us,  Annunciata  ?  " 

"  Sure !  Cristofo  mio"  smiled  the  sister. 
"  There's  two  good  rooms,  and  it's  fine  for  the  chil- 
dren in  the  country.  Don't  worry  about  us  at  all, 
but  quick, —  how  is  father  ?  You  don't  tell  the  real 
news  to  Madre,  and  I  want  the  truth  about  him." 

The  boy  gave  a  low  sort  of  moan,  and  dragged  off 
his  cap  as  if  for  more  sunshine.  "  The  bones  in  his 
legs  are  mendin'  all  right,"  he  replied.  "  The  doc- 
tor says  to-day  he  was  gettin'  on  well  as  they  hoped, 
—  but  he  looks  turrible  sick  to  me.  That  explosion, 
put  one  of  his  lungs  out  of  business.  Poor  Padre 
is  all  the  time  wantin'  more  air,  and  the  other  sick 
people  won't  let  the  windows  be  open.  It's  fierce !  " 

"  Oh,  Mother  of  God !  "  sighed  Annunciata.  "  If 
we  could  only  bring  him  out  here  where  the  air  is  so 
fine!" 

"  I  wishes  we  could,"  said  the  other.  t(  But  we 
can't  now ;  it  costs  too  much  money,  and  noway  they 
wouldn't  let  him  leave  the  hospital." 

His  sister's  head  drooped.  She  moved  closer  to 
Cristofo  and  leaned  rather  heavily  against  his  thin 
shoulder.  "  Now  don't  you  cry,  little  sis,"  the  boy 
pleaded  gently.  "  It  don't  do  no  good  to  cry.  Say," 
he  broke  off  in  more  practical  tones,  "  what  was 
Tony  tryin'  to  tell  me  'bout  bein'  run  off  the  grounds 
up  there  ?  "  In  speaking,  Cris  pointed  with  his  free 
hand  toward  the  Hopkins'. 


A  BROKEN  BRANCH  115 

"It  was  this  morning,"  answered  Annunciata, 
wiping  her  eyes  on  her  brother's  coat  sleeve.  "I 
wasn't  going  to  tell  you,  but  as  Tonio  has  — " 

"  Well,  go  on,  I  got  to  hear  it,"  demanded  the  boy. 

"  Jo  and  Tonio  climbed  up  the  bank,  like  children 
do  in  new  places,  and  at  the  top  they  were  digging 
some  dandelions  for  salad,  when  two  men  —  garden- 
ers, I  'spect  —  came  running  with  sticks,  calling 
them  awful  bad  names  —  and  saying  if  they  ever 
show  their  heads  over  the  bank  another  time,  Mr. 
Hopkins  is  going  to  have  the  law  on  them.  Jo  was 
so  scared  he  fell  down,  and  rolled  to  the  bottom  of 
the  hill,  but  Tonio  he  shook  his  fists  at  them, —  he's 
so  brave !  What  was  the  harm  of  taking  a  few  dan- 
delions that  were  being  dug  up  and  thrown  on  the 
trash  heap?" 

Cristofo  frowned,  but  his  voice  when  he  answered 
was  steady.  "  Tell  'em  not  to  climb  so  high  again, 
'cause  they  was  on  other  people's  property.  The  first 
two  lessons  you  got  to  learn  in  America  is  '  keep  ofi 
the  grass  '  and  '  no  trespassin'.'  It's  the  way  things 
are  done  here,  and  I  guess  it's  all  right.  In  that 
open  field  acrost  the  road,  there's  plenty  of  dande- 
lions." 

"  Yes,  I've  showed  them  already,"  nodded  Annun- 
ciata, "  they  won't  go  up  that  bank  any  more.  The 
boys  are  good,  and  they  mind  what  I  tell  them,  but 
it  was  mean,  of  those  gardeners  to  call  them  bad 
names." 

"  Oh,  it  ain't  hard  to  run  into  meanness  in  this 
land ! "  exclaimed  Cris  darkly.  "  I  get  my  full 


116          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

share  in  the  city,  you  can  bet.  Just  now,  on  my  way 
here,  a  scrawny  boy  over  there,"  he  jerked  his  thumb 
toward  the  Merrills,  "  tried  to  stone  me." 

Overhead  the  flower-decked  apple  bough  set  up 
such  a  wild  agitation  that  it  was  marvellous  the  two 
speakers  did  not  see  it.  Phil  yearned  to  cry  down, 
"  But  you  don't  say  that  I  stopped  him.  Tell  'Nun- 
ciata  that  I  stopped  him,  Cristofo,  and  he's  only  my 
half-brother  too  —  and  it  wasn't  the  half  that  is 
mine  that  chunked  rocks." 

The  boy  had  drawn  himself  up  to  his  full,  slender 
height.  His  head  turned  slowly  around,  until  his 
eyes  fell  again  upon  the  hideous  cottage.  The  long- 
fingered  brown  hands  were  thrust  through  his  hair. 
His  cap  fell  unperceived  to  the  ground. 

"  Anmmciata,"  he  said  gravely,  though  with  an 
undertone  of  excitement.  "  I  just  got  a  hunch." 

"  A  hunch !  Mother  of  God,  what  is  that  ?  "  asked 
Annunciata,  alarmed.  "Is  it  a  bad  pain  you  are 
having  ? " 

Her  brother  laughed.  "  It's  American  for  idea. 
Yes,  I  believe  I've  struck  a  big  idea !  " 

"  Tell  me  quick,"  implored  the  girl,  much  as  Phil 
so  often  said  it.  "  I  can't  wait." 

"  You  see  for  yourself,"  began  Cristofo,  "  that  our 
two  neighbors  are  both  against  us." 

His  sister  nodded  sadly. 

"  And  one  reason's  'cause  we  live  in  a  place  that's 
so  ugly  it  gives  you  the  eye-ache  to  look  at  it." 

"  Yes,  my  brother,  I  see  that  too." 

"  Well !  "  cried  the  lad,  now  giving  his  eagerness 


A  BROKEN  BRANCH  117 

full  rein,  "  what's  the  matter  with  makin'  the  little 
joint  pretty?" 

"  Make  it  pretty ;  how  can  we  ?  "  said  Annunciata 
wonderingly. 

"  Just  this-a-way,"  Cristofo  continued.  "  The 
house  is  a  dump,  but  the  dirt  all  round  it  is  as  rich 
as  can  be.  We  could  plant  vines  near  the  — " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  agreed  the  other,  clasping  her  hands 
in  delight,  "  and  flowers  in  front." 

"  And  onions  and  cabbages  in  the  back,"  suggested 
practical  Cris. 

"  How  the  children  will  love  it !  and  how  they  will 
work !  "  rippled  the  big  sister. 

"  I'll  patch  up  the  fences,  and  plant  things  there 
too,"  Cristofo  hurried  on.  "  We'll  plant  the  whole 
house  over  with  vines." 

All  at  once  Annunciata's  radiance  sobered.  "  You 
say  plant, —  but  the  seeds,  Cris,  the  seeds,  even  the 
very  small  ones,  cost  money." 

At  this  point  the  listener  in  the  tree  lost  all  sense 
of  prudence.  "  'Nunciata,  Cris,"  she  called  down, 
"  I  know  where  you  can  get  some, —  some  scarlet 
runners,  and  big  Japanese  morning-glories,  and  — " 

"Great  Scott,  what's  that?"  cried  the  boy, 
startled,  and  looking  up. 

"It's  me,  it's  Phil  'Merrill,"  said  the  voice. 
"  And  I  just  got  to  tell  you  — " 

Alas  for  the  brittleness  of  ancient  tree  limbs. 
The  one  on  which  Phil  now  vibrated  gave  a  loud, 
threatening  crack.  The  girl  screamed,  slipped  partly 
down,  and  hung  in  the  air. 


118         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  It  is  Pheelomel, —  our  friend, —  our  one  friend 
from  next  door !  "  exclaimed  Annunciata.  "  Oh, 
Cristofo,  go  catch  her  quick." 

"Hold  tight  there,"  the  boy  cried  to  Phil. 
"  Don't  let  go  until  I'm  standing  right  under  you." 

Another  great  crack  came  from  the  now  falling 
limb. 

"  Drop,  drop  — "  ordered  Cris,  his  arms  straining 
upward. 

Phil  dropped,  and  he  caught  her.  "  Here,  here, 
little  lady,"  the  Italian  laughed,  as  he  felt  her  strug- 
gling to  get  on  her  feet,  "  you  keep  still.  You  don't 
want  to  bog  up  to  your  knees  in  black  mud,  do  you  ? 
Hold  tight  to  me  till  I  carry  you  over  to  dry  land." 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

SAINT    CKISTOFO'S    FERRY 

ANNUNCIATA,  breathless  and  glowing,  stood 
at  the  edge  of  the  seep,  watching  the  approach 
of  the  boy  and  her  friend. 

"  Oh,"  she  said  to  herself,  speaking  the  words  in 
a  low,  thrilling  voice,  "  it  is  truly  Saint  Cristofo 
crossing  the  ferry." 

Phil  was  set  down  gently.  Her  promise  to  the 
stepmother  was  broken.  But  after  all,  was  it  not 
the  old  apple  tree,  and  not  herself,  Phil  Merrill, 
who  had  broken  it?  She  turned  solemn  eyes  to  the 
tree.  The  limb,  now  relieved  of  her  weight,  had 
ceased  falling,  and  was  still  thrust  out  into  the  air, 
all  of  its  flower-tipped  twigs  shivering. 

She  gazed  first  at  her'  rescuer,  and  then  at  Annun- 
ciata.  "  Who  is  Saint  Cristofo  ?  "  she  demanded. 

As  the  three  made  their  way  together  through  the 
tall  bushes,  Annunciata  kept  a  tight  hold  upon  Phil's 
hand.  In  her  soft  voice,  the  Italian  girl  recounted 
the  legend  of  Saint  Cristofo,  and  through  her  words, 
the  two  listeners  could  almost  see  the  sleeping  ferry- 
man, the  touch  of  the  small  boy  on  his  shoulder,  and 
then  the  wading  of  the  dark,  angry  stream,  while  the 
Christ-child,  for  it  was  none  other,  grew  heavier  and 


120          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

heavier,  just  to  test  the  strength  and  faith  of  the 
good  Cristofo  who  bore  him. 

"  It  is  a  lovely  story,"  said  Phil  warmly,  as  the 
tale  ended.  "  Better  even  than  'Lijah  and  Miss 
Eosa,  that  talked.  And  now  will  you  take  me  to 
see  the  cave  Tonio  is  digging  ?  " 

Without  a  single  qualm  of  guilty  conscience,  or 
so  much  as  a  backward  look  toward  her  home,  Phil 
followed  Annunciata  and  Cris  along  a  winding  path- 
way through  bushes,  until  she  came  to  the  foot  of  the 
clay  hill. 

Tonio,  with  Jo  and  Lucia  beside  him,  were  fling- 
ing the  red  earth  backward  like  so  many  beavers. 
Already  there  was  quite  an  excavation.  "  Oh,  let 
me  dig !  "  begged  Phil.  "  Where  is  a  spade  or  a 
trowel  ? " 

"  Aw,  take  yer  two  hands,  like  what  we  are 
doin',"  cried  Tonio  rudely.  "  That's  what  hands  is 
made  f er, —  to  dig.  Look  fer  yourn ;  that's  right, 
look!"  he  derided,  "you'll  find  'em  hung  to  de  ends 
of  your  arms !  " 

Annunciata,  after  a  few  words  of  reproof  to  her 
outspoken  brother,  declared  she  must  go  back  to  the 
house.  "  I  hear  Madre  starting  the  polenta,  and  I 
must  begin  setting  the  table,"  she  explained. 

"  Is  it  a  big  festa?  "  asked  Phil. 

"  No,  just  grub,  jest  plain  grub  dis  time,"  cried 
the  irrepressible  Tonio,  making  loud  smacking  noises 
with  his  mouth.  "  You  kin  come  in  an'  have  some 
of  it  if  you  want  to,  can't  she,  sister  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  can,"  smiled  Annunciata.     "  But 


SAINT  CRISTOFO'S  FERRY     121 

this  is  a  very  small  festa,  only  some  sausage  and  gar- 
lic, with  dandelion  salad,  and  polenta.  When  it's 
ready  you  must  please  come  and  eat  with  us,  Pheelo- 
mel." 

Phil  shook  her  head,  mumhling  something  about 
having  to  go  home  in  a  minute. 

Cris  looked  around,  "  What's  that  name  you  said," 
he  asked  with  evident  interest.  "  What  did  you  call 
the  little  lady  ?  " 

"  Pheelomel,"  answered  Annunciata,  her  musical 
tones  making  the  word  as  sweet  as  spoken  honey. 

"  It's  a  fine  name,  all  right,"  said  the  boy  in 
pleased  satisfaction.  "  It's  Greek,  and  it  means 
1  nighteengale.' ' 

"  Why,  how  did  you  know,  Cris  ?  "  exclaimed  Phil. 
Cousin  Betty  had  told  her  the  meaning,  but  she  won- 
dered greatly  how  a  "  beggar  "  had  found  it  out. 

"  Aw,  Cris  knows  everything,  he  does,"  Tonio 
flung  in  between  the  two  big  scoops  of  red  clay. 

"  Not  everything,"  laughed  Cris.  "  But  a  Greek 
boy  works  next  to  me  in  the  shop  at  night,  and  he's 
always  a-singin'  a  song  '  about  nighteengales/ 
'Twas  wrote  by  a  chap  back  in  his  home,  named  Theo- 
critus. Here,  you  girls,  stop  a  minute,"  he  cried, 
with  an  abrupt  change  of  manner.  "  All  right,  An- 
nunciata, if  you  got  to  go  in,  but  leave  Miss  Philo- 
mel to  stay  here.  I  want  to  get  my  fingers  onto  her 
head  in  this  clay." 

Phil's  hands  flew  up  to  protect  the  threatened 
member.  "  You  sha'n't  put  my  head  in  the  dirt/' 
she  protested. 


122          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Cris  had  fallen  to  his  knees,  and  the  long  nervous 
fingers  had  begun  to  round  out  an  oblong  of  the 
damp  clay. 

"  Not  your  real  head,  Miss  Phil,"  he  exclaimed. 
"  Just  the  shape  of  it  while  you  are  standin'  there. 
Look  up  at  the  bank,"  he  commanded.  "  No,  higher, 
lift  your  chin.  Play  you  hear  a  namesake  of  yourn 
singin'  up  there  on  the  top." 

"  But  I  don't ;  there's  nothing  but  a  tree-frog,"  re- 
joined Phil. 

"Aw,  tilt  yer  head,  like  Cris  tells  yer,"  put  in 
Tonio.  "  If  they  was  a  real  bird  on  de  bank,  you 
wouldn't  need  to  make  b'leeve." 

Phil,  thus  constrained,  held  her  head  erect.  She 
was  dying  to  see  what  the  now  breathlessly  silent 
Cristofo  was  making,  but  with  Tonio  in  charge,  she 
did  not  dare  so  much  as  to  let  her  lids  fall. 

"  What  are  you  digging  a  cave  for,  Tonio  ? "  she 
questioned,  determined  to  wrest  some  sort  of  enter- 
tainment from  her  plight. 

"  Wot  you  reckon  ?  To  put  robbers  an'  pirates  an* 
bears  in,  of  course.  Even  a  girl  might  have  knowed 
that  much." 

"  Tonio ! "  Cristofo's  voice  rang  sharply. 
"You've  got  to  try  to  talk  more  like  a  gentleman. 
That  wasn't  no  way  to  answer  a  decent  question. 
The  youngsters  started  in  diggin'  that  hole,  Miss 
Philomel,"  he  went  on  to  explain,  "  just  to  work  off 
some  of  that  energy  that's  eatin'  them.  I  don't 
think  much  of  this  special  diggin'  stunt  myself. 
That  bank  ain't  as  deep  as  it  might  be,  and  the  log 


SAINT  CRISTOFO'S  FERRY     123 

dam  up  on  top  of  it  is  piled  so  loose  that  a  child 
might  work  it  away.  Then  the  whole  bloomin'  pond 
would  come  down  on  to  us.  There !  "  he  cried, 
springing  to  his  feet,  and  gazing  proudly  down  upon 
his  handiwork.  "  I  finished  it.  You  can  look, 
It's  you." 

Phil  sank  to  her  knees  beside  the  rough  image. 
In  her  eyes  it  seemed  not  only  beautiful,  but  some- 
thing utterly  miraculous. 

"  Is  my  nose  really  as  straight  as  that,  Cris  ?  "  she 
asked,  in  an  awe-stricken  whisper. 

"  Sure  it  is,  and  your  chin  is  pretty  too.  Your 
neck's  kinder  thin  for  a  statue,  but  I've  fattened  it 
up  some." 

"  Oh,  I  want  it  for  mine.  I  want  to  carry  it 
home,"  the  child  pleaded,  reaching  out  eager  hands. 
At  her  touch  the  wet  clay  fell  to  pieces.  "  I've 
ruined  it,  it's  broken !  "  wailed  Phil. 

"  That  don't  make  no  diff'rence,"  comforted  Cris, 
as  he  kicked  the  shapeless  lump  to  one  side.  "  I  can 
shape  a-plenty  more  just  as  good." 

"  Will  you  make  me  one  of  Laddie  ? "  urged  Phil. 
"  Laddie's  my  dog,  and  he's  beautiful,  and  my  step- 
mother won't  let  me  keep  him,  because  he  bit  Edgar. 
Didn't  you  notice  one  of  Edgar's  hands  was  all  tied 
up  in  white  ?  " 

"  Sure  I'll  make  one  of  Laddie ;  I'd  like  to,"  an- 
swered Cris,  avoiding  the  topic  of  Edgar.  "  ISTow 
let's  all  go  back  to  the  house  and  see  where  to  plant 
vines.  Who'd  you  say  might  give  us  a  few  seeds  ?  " 

"  Ma  Comfort,"  said  Phil.     "  She's  got  them  al- 


124         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

ready  growing.  I  just  know  she'll  have  some  left. 
Anyway,  I'm  going  right  down  to  the  beach  to  ask 
her,  and  I  don't  care  if  my  stepmother  does  scold." 

"Who's  the  lady  you  call  Ma  Comfort?"  ques- 
tioned Cris.  "  Is  that  funny  name  her  real  one  ?  " 

"  No,  her  name  is  Mrs.  Giddings,  but  I  call  her 
Ma  Comfort  because  I  love  her.  She  and  Uncle 
John  are  keeping  Laddie  for  me  so's  he  won't  never 
be  shot.  They  are  the  dearest  — " 

Here  the  speaker's  torrent  of  words  came  to  a 
pause.  Her  eyes,  blue-black  with  excitement,  stared 
out  to  the  road.  "  Why,  there  she  is  now !  That's 
Ma  Comfort !  "  she  cried  in  an  ecstasy.  "  That  fat 
lady  in  blue,  trying  to  squeeze  in  through  your  gate. 
She's  toting  a  basket.  Oh,  Ma  Comfort ! "  she 
screamed,  rushing  around  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

At  this  uproar,  Mrs.  Bertollotti  hurried  out  to  the 
verandah,  thinking  the  cottage  must  be  on  fire. 
When  she  saw  the  cause  of  Phil's  excitement,  her 
brown  face  relaxed,  and  the  gleam  of  white  Italian 
teeth  flashed  a  welcome  to  the  entering  visitor. 

Mrs.  Giddings  had  put  on  her  second  best  dress. 
It  was  of  blue  woolen  cloth,  rather  strained  as  to 
seams  and  to  buttonholes.  From  her  shoulders  de- 
pended a  "  mantua  "  or  cape  of  black,  edged  with 
fringe  and  a  thin  line  of  beads.  She  wore  a  black 
bonnet,  also  beaded,  and  made  striking  by  a  vivid 
green  parrot,  whose  beak,  poised  directly  in  front, 
gave  the  bird  an  inquisitive  air.  Whenever  Ma 
spoke  it  seemed  to  be  listening. 

Before  Phil  could  arrive,   Mrs.   Bertollotti  was 


SAINT  CRISTOFO'S  FERRY     125 

shaking  Ma's  hand, —  the  one  that  did  not  hold  her 
basket, —  and  had  begun  pouring  out  volleys  of  jubi- 
lant Italian. 

Mrs.  Giddings  looked  startled.  She  had  not 
counted  on  a  welcome  in  a  foreign  language,  but  her 
kind  heart  prevented  her  from  showing  consterna- 
tion. Stepping  valiantly  up  to  the  boards  she  said 
pleasantly,  "  Good  day.  I'm  glad,  ma'm,  to  make 
your  acquaintance.  I  was  jest  passin'  your  way, 
Mis'  Ber  —  ber  —  kollokky, —  and  I  thought  I'd 
stop  in  and  say  welcome  to  you  and  yourn  to  our 
neighborhood." 

"  Si  —  si,  Madame,"  cried  the  Italian,  and  ran  in- 
doors to  drag  forth  her  one  rocking  chair,  kept  al- 
ways in  the  "  parlor,"  and  adorned  with  a  brilliant 
wool  tidy.  "  I  understanna  de  Eenglis, —  yes,  well, 

—  but  not  spika, —  Madonna  mm, —  but  not  spika,, 
Annunciata,  she  spika,  an'  Cristofo,  my  boy,  I  bring, 

—  I  call  dem." 

Gesticulating  more  wildly  than  usual,  she  darted 
indoors,  crying  out  in  her  native  tongue,  "  Annun- 
ciata —  Cristofo !  run  quickly.  A  huge,  kindly  lady 
has  come  to  visit  us.  Mother  of  God!  Are  you 
turned  into  snails  that  you  make  haste  so  slowly." 

Ma  sank  back  in  the  rocker.  Fumbling  at  a  little 
black  cloth  bag  that  hung  near  the  place  where  her 
waist  line  should  be,  she  drew  out  a  handkerchief, 
and  began  drying  her  broad,  pink  countenance. 

The  basket  had  been  heavy.  With  a  groan  of  re- 
lief, she  set  it  down  to  the  floor.  From  beneath  the 
cover  stole  savory  suggestions  of  sugar  and  butter 


126          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

and  spice.  She  was  glad  to  be  resting,  but  her  glad- 
ness was  brief,  for  in  an  instant  she  felt  two  arms 
flung  about  her  neck,  and  heard  Phil's  eager  voice 
crying  out,  "  Oh,  Ma  Comfort,  I'm  so  perfectly 
thankful  you've  come!  We  want  you  to  give  us 
bushels  and  bushels  of  flower  seeds.  Have  you  got 
any  in  that  big  basket  ? " 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

SEED  TIME 

MES.  GIDDHSTGS  had  no  time  to  reply. 
Cristofo,  Annunciata,  and  little  Hugo 
stood  in  the  door  of  the  cottage.  Phil,  feeling  their 
presence  rather  than  hearing  it, —  for  all  three  had 
moved  softly  forward, —  unclasped  her  hold  on  the 
visitor,  and  sprang  upright  eager  to  begin  introduc- 
tions. 

"  This  is  'Nunciata,  Ma  Comfort,"  she  announced, 
dragging  the  shy,  smiling  girl  toward  Mrs.  Gid- 
dings ;  "  and  that  tall  boy  behind  her  is  Cristofo,  the 
Christ-bearer.  There's  a  lot  more  children  out  in 
the  back  yard  digging  a  cave,  and  this  fat  one  is 
Hugo,  and  —  and  oh,  'Nunciata,"  she  checked  her- 
self long  enough  to  inquire,  "  where  is  precious  Eosa 
Maria?" 

Annunciata  laid  a  finger  of  warning  against  the 
red  flower  of  her  mouth.  "  Sh-sh-sh,"  she  said  in  a 
whisper  intended  only  for  Phil's  ears,  "  Eosa  Maria 
was  not  clean.  The  Madre  puts  now  a  nice  fresh 
frock  over  the  dirty  one." 

Ma's  fascinated  gaze  had  fixed  itself  upon  Hugo. 
She  liked  him  at  once.  He  owned,  for  one  thing,  a 
name  a  Christian  woman  could  pronounce.  "  Come 


128          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

here,  Ho-goo,"  she  coaxed,  holding  a  pink  hand  to- 
ward him. 

Hugo,  in  response  to  this  invitation,  entangled 
himself  in  Annunciata's  black  skirt  and  from  its  folds 
peeped  out  at  the  siren  with  a  single  velvety  eye. 

Mrs.  Giddings,  pretending  to  ignore  him,  leaned  to 
her  basket,  and  carelessly  threw  back  a  corner  of  the 
white  napkin.  Odors  of  Araby  streamed  forth ! 

A  gurgle  of  ecstasy  came  from  Hugo.  Leaving 
his  sister's  sheltering  skirt,  he  toddled  straight  to  the 
basket,  fell  upon  his  knees  and  pointed.  Ma  gave 
him  a  cookie,  a  thick  one.  It  vanished  with  mirac- 
ulous swiftness,  and  Hugo  again  extended  a  brown 
and  very  grimy  palm.  The  second  cake  was  de- 
voured even  more  quickly. 

Ma's  face  was  a  round  moon  of  rising  approval. 
"  Mercy  me !  "  she  sighed  enviously.  "  If  I  could 
only  have  Hew-roo  fer  mine.  Jest  to  think  what 
good  things  I  could  feed  him !  " 

The  three  intermediate  children  now  appeared  on 
the  verandah ;  Tonio  aggressive,  bold-eyed,  and  grin- 
ning, the  other  two,  Jo  and  Lucia,  clinging  together 
hand  in  hand,  well  in  the  background. 

Phil  presented  all  three,  taking  special  pains, —  an 
effort  entirely  futile, —  to  make  Ma  say  "  I^u-chee- 
ya  "  instead  of  "  Loosher  "  as  most  Americans  called 
it. 

The  green  parrot  shook  in  protest  at  Phil's  stric- 
tures. "  Hew-roo  "  was  the  one  name  that  Ma  felt 
she  ever  would  know. 

Now  Mrs.  Bertollotti,  bearing  the  small  whited  sep- 


SEED  TIME  129 

ulchre,  Rosa  Maria,  joined  the  group.  Phil  imme- 
diately reached  up  for  the  baby,  assuming  the  priv- 
ilege of  showing  her  off.  She  was  very  careful,  how- 
ever, to  keep  one  restraining  hand  on  the  top  skirt, 
dragging  it  rigidly  downward,  that  things  better  un- 
seen should  stay  hidden. 

Under  the  influence  of  Phil's  duckings  and  tick- 
lings, the  infant  obligingly  laughed,  disclosing  not 
only  the  four  perfect  front  teeth,  but  a  cruel-look- 
ing ring  of  adjacent  ones,  in  the  act  of  being  cut. 

"  The  poor,  blessed  Lammits !  "  exclaimed  Ma  at 
this  piteous  sight.  "  Could  I  give  her  a  nibble  of  a 
cookie,  Miss  Nuncy-yawter,  do  you  think  ?  " 

"Why,  of  course,"  answered  the  sister,  much 
astonished.  "Rosa  Maria  eats  everything,  same  as 
we  do.  She's  a  big  girl  now,  more  than  a  year  old." 

Tonio,  Jo,  and  Lucia  were  being  steadily  drawn,  as 
by  a  magnet,  toward  the  warm,  perfumed  basket  still 
on  the  floor.  Each  little  brown  nose  was  uncon- 
sciously "  sniffing,"  like  so  many  rabbits  when  a  leaf 
of  green  cabbage  appears. 

Ma  Comfort  smiled  broadly,  and  got. to  her  feet. 
"  I  must  have  more  room  than  is  out  here  for 
emptyin'  this  food,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Could  I  jest 
step  inside  now,  and  find  a  table  ?  " 

"  Please,  please !  "  cried  Annunciata.  "  Come 
right  in  this  door ;  it's  our  parlor." 

Mrs.  Giddings  billowed  in,  followed  closely  by  all 
of  the  small  Italians,  who  watched  the  basket  being 
placed  on  the  bare  boards.  Two  little  benches,  with- 
out backs,  ran  one  at  each  side  of  the  table  and,  in  the 


130         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

intervals  of  meals,  were  pushed  out  of  sight  under- 
neath. 

There  was  a  much-damaged  safe  in  one  corner, 
with  two  of  the  green  wire  doors  missing.  Mrs. 
Giddings'  quick  eye  had  taken  in  everything,  even  to 
the  three-legged  stool,  and  the  several  cloth  bundles 
left  about  on  the  floor. 

In  all  of  the  bare  room  there  was  no  hint  of  bright- 
ness, nor  of  beauty,  save  the  white,  smiling  figure  on 
the  mantel,  and  the  spray  of  blue  Virginia  cowslips 
standing  near  it.  Phil,  noting  Ma's  covert  survey, 
tiptoed  up  for  a  whisper.  "  That's  the  Mother  of 
God,"  she  explained.  "  She  got  broke,  and  I  helped 
'Nunciata  tie  her  up  with  the  tatting  off  my  petti- 
coat. The  children  say  prayers  to  her  all  the  time. 
Isn't  it  funny  ?  " 

Ma  gave  a  dry  smile,  but  refused  any  outspoken 
comment. 

At  last  the  covering  napkin  was  taken  quite  off. 
"  Gather  in  here,  you  chicks,"  commanded  the  vis- 
itor, as  she  thrust  a  hand  deep  into  cookies.  "  I  am 
sorry  to  be  so  much  trouble,"  she  said,  her  eyes  on 
Mrs.  Bertollotti,  "  but  I  would  like  a  dish,  platter, 
or  some  kind  of  pan  for  these  things." 

The  Madre,  understanding  at  once,  shot  toward 
the  old  broken  safe,  and  returned  with  a  tin  pie 
plate. 

"  These  is  jest  outer  my  ovin',"  declared  Ma,  not 
without  pride,  as  she  dumped  the  cakes  down  in 
handfuls.  "  I  opined,  from  what  Miss  Phil  told  me, 
that  I  couldn't  scarcely  cook  too  many  of  them,  and 


SEED  TIME  131 

I  ain't.  Now  —  now,  there,  you  Hew-bo ! "  she 
cried  at  the  sight  of  a  brown  fist  approaching.  "  You 
done  gobbled  two  fat  ones  a'ready.  You  must  wait 
till  the  girls  git  theirs.  That's  the  way  for  a  gen'- 
mun  to  act." 

Hugo,  nothing  abashed,  raised  his  eyes  of  brown 
velvet.  A  smile  crept  into  them,  honey-sweet.  The 
sticky  small  palm  was  turned  upward. 

"  You  rascal  \  "  whispered  Mrs.  Giddings  —  nearly 
weeping  with  rapture.  "  Take  that,  and  be  off." 

Under  the  cookies  appeared  a  second  snowy  cloth. 
Ma  lifted  this  slowly,  and,  in  doing  so,  looked  once 
more  toward  the  Madre.  "  You  see,  Mis'  Bekky- 
locky,"  she  explained,  as  if  just  a  trifle  embarrassed, 
"  Pa's  seafarin'  friends  is  everlastin^y  bringin'  us 
things,  so  that  I've  got  stuff  piled  on  me  till  I  don't 
know  where  to  put  it.  That's  why  I  thought  I'd 
jest  fetch  along  this  here  caddy  o'  tea,  some  lump 
sugar,  and  some  tins  o'  sardines  which  John,  bein' 
a  fresh-water  fisherman,  despises.  I  has  added  a  few 
of  the  aigs  laid  this  mornin'  by  my  old  yaller  hens, 
and  hope  you'll  kindly  accept  them  in  the  spirit  they 
is  gave." 

"  It  is  a  festa, —  a  real,  true  festa!  "  carolled  An- 
nunciata,  like  the  child  that  she  was. 

Mrs.  Bertollotti,  after  a  terrific  explosion  of  words, 
to  which  the  names  of  many  saints  added  a  strange 
music,  threatened  to  break  into  tears.  This  excess 
of  gratitude,  while  it  delighted  Ma,  nevertheless 
made  her  extremely  uncomfortable. 

"  There  —  there,"  she  soothed  briskly.     "  It  ain't 


132          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

nothin'  at  all,  really.  I  was  glad  to  be  rid  of  the 
stuff.  You  children,"  she  cried,  turning  to  the 
munching  circle.  "  I  want  you  to  find  your  way  to 
my  house  this  same  afternoon.  Phil  can  show  you. 
My  husband,  John  Giddin's,"  she  explained,  now 
speaking  to  Annunciata  and  the  tall  Cristofo,  "  keeps 
a  fish  and  clam  and  oyster  deppo  down  to  the  bay. 
Sometimes  Pa's  haul  of  fishes  is  so  heavy  that  we 
can't  sell  the  half  of  them,  and  has  to  use  the  rest 
for  fertilizer  in  my  little  gyardin  patch  acrost  the 
road." 

The  tea-cakes  were  suspended,  while  a  low  groan 
issued  in  unison  from  the  lips  of  the  Bertollotti  fam- 
ily. The  horror  on  their  faces,  as  the  meaning  of 
this  sinful  waste  came  to  them,  told  plainer  than 
any  words  their  condition  of  utter  poverty. 

Ma  Comfort's  brown  eyes  grew  tender. 

"  Lord,  Lord,"  she  said,  wiping  them  on  the  hand- 
kerchief from  her  little  black  bag,  "  but  ain't  it  a 
mussy  you  happened  to  take  up  with  this  little  house 
in  Bible  Road?  ~Now  jest  you  remember,  Mis' 
Brasserrony,  you  and  those  youngsters,  if  they  is 
anything  that  me  and  Pa  can  do  for  you  and  for 
yours  — " 

"  There  is  —  there  is,  Ma  Comfort !  "  panted  Phil, 
dragging  at  the  hem  of  Mrs.  Giddings'  beaded  cape. 
"  It's  what  I  asked  about  when  you  first  came  in  — 
Me  and  'Nunciata,  and  Chris,  we  want  something 
just  terrible.  Those  horrid  Hopkins'  servants  who 
ran  Tonio  and  Jo  away  this  morning,  they  said  that 
this  house  was  the  disgrace  of  Bible  Eoad.  They 


SEED  TIME  133 

made  'Nunciata  cry,  they  did,  and  then  me  and  Cris 
thought  if  we  could  plant  vines  all  over  the  place, 
and  if  we  just  had  some  seeds  — " 

Ma  could  no  longer  listen  in  silence.  Her  excite- 
ment exploded. 

"Is  it  seeds  you're  wantinM  Seeds!"  she  trum- 
peted in  a  voice  of  scorn.  "  Well,  I  should  say  that 
I  did  have  seed  to  my  house!  Here,  let  me  have  a 
look  'round,"  and  marching  through  the  door,  Mrs. 
Giddings'  eyes  swished  about  like  two  brown,  slender 
sickles. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  nodding,  and  then  pointing  to 
the  ground.  "  Here  at  your  front  piazzer  pillars, — 
if  you  could  call  them  sticks  pillars, —  we  can  put  big 
Japanese  mornin'-glories,  and  vines  of  my  scarlet 
runner.  We  don't  need  to  wait  for  any  sproutin', 
neether.  I'll  take  up  a  few  of  mine  already  a-growin' 
by  my  awnin'  posts.  I  can  tell  you  this  thing,  my 
young  man,"  she  emphasized,  striding  up  to  the  de- 
lighted Cristofo,  with  one  hand  lifted  as  though  to 
smite  him.  "  If  it's  plants  you  want,  and  seeds, — 
flower  or  gyardin,  you've  rung  the  proper  do'-bell 
first  time. 

"  Why,"  she  continued,  taking  a  deep  breath,  and 
then  hurrying  on  as  if  it  were  a  new  and  wonder- 
ful game  upon  which  she  had  entered,  "  them  shaller 
little  boxes  of  mine  don't  take  but  a  pinch  of  the 
seeds  Pa  Giddin's  is  allays  buyin'  for  me  to  put 
in  them.  I've  packs  and  packs  stuck  away.  They 
is  merrygolds,  touch-me-nots,  nasturtiums,  love-in- 
a-mist,  and  grass  pinks, —  the  dear  knows  what- 


134          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

all  I  hasn't.  But  of  the  lot,  them  sweet-smellin' 
clove  pinks  is  my  fswoxryte"  volunteered  Mrs.  Gid- 
dings. 

"  Those  tinchy-winchy  little  f  ringy  ones  ?  "  inter- 
rupted Phil,  both  hands  clasped  in  ecstasy.  "  They 
are  my  favorites  too.  They  smell  like  peach  pre- 
serves and  heaven,  and  Grandma  had  just  millions 
of  them." 

Ma  Comfort  gave  an  appreciative  nod,  but  her 
eloquence  was  not  so  easily  checked.  "  My  porch 
boxes,"  she  rambled  on,  "  is  strugglin'  and  jammed 
with  green  things  a-tryin'  to  grow  all  to  onst.  They 
crowds  closer,"  she  chuckled,  "  than  you  Betty- 
lokky  children  here  in  your  cottage,  and  it'll  be  a 
God's  blessin'  to  get  them  thinned  out.  By  that 
I  ain't  meanin',"  she  hastened  to  add,  "  that  any  of 
you  needs  thinnin'  out.  They  can't  hardly  be  too 
many  children  when  they's  good  an'  well-mannered 
like  you  youngsters  seems  to  be." 

Chris,  Phil,  and  Annunciata  exchanged  glances  of 
pleasure  at  this  warm  commendation. 

After  her  long  speech,  Mrs.  Giddings  had  fallen 
into  a  most  unusual  silence.  She  passed  a  plump 
hand  over  her  forehead,  giving  the  parrot  a  more  rak- 
ish tilt,  and  was  evidently  deep  in  thought.  Sud- 
denly, starting  up,  she  said  something  under  her1 
breath,  turned  about,  and  tramped  through  the  small, 
bleak  abode  to  the  rear. 

All  eyes  followed  wonderingly  the  broad,  black- 
caped  shoulders.  In  a  very  few  minutes  she  re- 
turned, the  parrot  bobbing  satisfaction,  while  his 


SEED  TIME  135 

wearer's  face  wore  the  gratified  look  of  one  who  has 
found  what  she  sought. 

"  Jest  as  I  expected,"  she  declaimed.  "  You've 
got  a-plenty  of  room  at  the  back  for  a  kitchin 
gyardin,  as  well.  There's  vegtubble  seeds  to  my 
house,  along  with  the  posies.  Me  and  Pa  runs  a  lit- 
tle mess-patch  for  ourselves,  right  acrost  Bible  Road, 
in  a  empty  lot  what  we's  rented.  We  has  to  do  con- 
sidderbul  coaxin'  in  that  sandy  soil,  but  down  here 
in  the  valley,  with  dirt  rich  as  this,  why,  when  your 
growin'  things  gets  good  and  started,  you'll  have  to 
keep  watch  to  see  that  they  don't  lift  the  house." 

"  Oh  —  oh,"  sparkled  Phil,  bounding  as  though 
her  two  feet  were  made  of  rubber.  "  When  can  we 
start  it,  Ma  Comfort?  I  want  to  begin  right 
away." 

"  And  you  shall,"  declared  Mrs.  Giddings,  pick- 
ing up  the  now  empty  basket.  "  I  had  thought  of 
keepin'  on  to  town  for  a  spell,  but  my  shoppin'  can 
wait.  'Taint  nothin'  of  any  importance  noways. 
This  day  was  made  by  the  Good  Father  for  plantin', 
so  I  wants  to  know  who'll  come  back  with  me  for  the 
vines  and  the  flower  seeds  ?  " 

"  Me.  Lemme  go,  Annunciata !  No,  me,"  clam- 
ored all  of  the  small  Bertollottis.  Even  the  wee, 
brown  mouse,  Rosa  Maria,  squeaked  with  excite- 
ment. 

Hugo  strode  to  the  front.  "I'm  goin',"  he  an- 
nounced sturdily.  "  Lady  got  cakes." 

"Here,  you  kids!"  Cristofo  laughed.  "The 
whole  bunch  can't  go,  or  folks'll  think  Mis'  Giddin's 


136          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

is  leadin'  the  lot  down  to  drown  them  like  kittens. 
Tonio  and  Giovanni  is  a-plenty  for  onst." 

"  Yes,  only  those  two/"'  agreed  Annunciata,  then 
lifting  her  dark  eyes  to  Ma,  she  said  gently,  "  Please, 
kind  Mrs.  Comfort,  wait  a  minute  till  they  can  wash 
off  their  hands  and  faces."  The  request  was  fol- 
lowed by  low-toned  directions  given  in  Italian  to  the 
boys  upon  whom  honor  had  fallen. 

"  Aw !  Cut  out  de  water  an'  de  soap !  "  grumbled 
Tonio,  who  preferred  most  things  to  washing,  but 
at  the  moment  encountering  a  stern  glance  from 
Cris,  he  revolved  on  his  heel,  and  with  Giovanni, 
sought  cleanliness  at  the  trickling  faucet. 

They  returned,  water  dripping  in  rills  from  each 
tumbled  forelock,  whereupon  Annunciata,  reaching 
out  a  slim  hand,  gave  to  the  black  heads  that  sort 
of  brushing  called  by  Phil's  Mammy  Jane  "  a  lick 
and  a  promise,"  and  proudly  announced  that  they 
were  ready. 

"Ain't  they  forgettin'  their  hats?"  Ma  sug- 
gested. 

Annunciata  and  Cris  both  laughed.  "  They  ain't 
never  felt  the  touch  of  a  hat  sence  bein'  born,  Mis' 
Giddin's,"  said  Cris.  "  Don't  you  think  that  hair  is 
enough  to  cover  them  ?  " 

"  'Cose,  'cose,"  assented  Ma  hastily.  "  It  makes 
most  American  children  look  peeled-like.  Well, 
boys,  is  you  prepared  to  start  ?  " 

"Brace  up,  and  offer  to  take  the  kind  lady's  bas- 
ket," ordered  Cris  in  a  low  voice  to  Tonio.  "  Won't 
you  never  learn  manners  at  all  ?  " 


SEED  TIME  137 

"  There,  that's  Ma's  nice  little  man,"  Mrs.  Gid- 
dings  exclaimed  approvingly,  as  Tonio  obeyed  his 
brother.  Now  she  looked  around.  "  Ain't  you 
a-comin'  too,  little  gran'darter  ? "  she  smiled,  catch- 
ing sight  of  Phil  in  the  doorway. 

Philomel  shook  her  head.  Again  she  felt  herself 
an  outcast.  Why  couldn't  she  too  walk  boldly  and 
quite  unafraid  in  the  sunshine  with  the  two  boys  and 
Ma  ?  It  was  her  own  Ma  Comfort,  not  theirs.  The 
thought  of  the  promise  so  deliberately  broken,  of  her 
disobedience  to  her  stepmother,  now  came  over  her 
like  a  cloud. 

"I  —  I  —  can't  come,  Ma,"  she  stammered  un- 
happily. "  I  got  to  get  back  to  my  house." 

Mrs.  Giddings  gave  her  a  long  searching  gaze. 
"  That's  right,"  she  said  gravely.  "  You  hadn't 
oughter  go  nowheres  without  askin'  your  Ma's  per- 
mission. That's  what  bein'  good  means.  Well,  so 
long,  Mis'  Bellytori,  I  had  a  reel  nice  visit  with 

you." 

Pursued  by  the  waving  of  hands  and  phrases  of 
gratitude,  some  in  American  and  some  in  Italian, 
Ma  Comfort,  flanked  by  her  two  ragged  attendants, 
stepped  proudly  out  into  the  road. 

Phil,  now  withdrawn  even  further  from  the  happy 
confusion,  knew  that  she  could  never  be  truly  a  part 
of  it.  Unseen  by  the  Bertollottis,  she  slipped  back 
into  the  cottage,  went  through  the  kitchen,  and  out 
in  the  bare  trampled  spot  at  the  rear. 

This  time  there  was  no  Saint  Cristofo  to  carry  her 
over  the  stream.  Phil  skirted  the  edge  of  it,  and 


138         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

farther  along,  found  a  stone,  from  which  she  could 
spring  to  the  broken  wall. 

It  was  a  chastened  and  saddened  Philomel  who 
now,  in  the  orchard,  searched  for  the  long-forgotten 
"  Swiss  Family  Kobinson,"  and  then,  with  the  book 
tucked  under  her  arm,  climbed  slowly  through  grass 
beginning  to  whiten  with  daisies,  to  her  stepmother's 
shabby  old  home. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

PHIL'S   FIEST   SUNDAY   IN    KINGTON 

AS  Phil  emerged  from  the  orchard  and  gained 
a  full  sight  of  her  home,  the  first  person  she 
saw  was  her  stepbrother,  leaning  from  a  second- 
storey  window  as  if  on  watch  for  her,  and  brandish- 
ing what  appeared  to  be  a  white  flag  of  truce.  On 
nearer  view,  this  proved  to  be  merely  a  sheet  of  blank 
paper. 

Catching  Phil's  eye,  the  boy  sang  out  instantly: 

"Old  Phil  Merrill,— she's  no  good! 
Chop  her  up  fer  fire-wood, 
If  the  fire-wood  won't  burn 
Old  Phil  Merrill,  she's  a  worm." 

The  insulted  one  stopped  short.  Irritation,  such 
as  she  never  felt  when  at  Ma  Comfort's  or  with  the 
lovable  Italians,  was  here  actually  rushing  out  to 
meet  her. 

She  scowled  and  clenched  her  fists.  After  a  brief 
but  victorious  struggle  with  the  muse  of  poetry,  Phil 
rejoined  shrilly: 

"  Edgar  Merrill,  he's  a  sneak, 
Chunk  him  in  the  drowning-creek 
If  he  sinks  and  cannot  swim, 
I  don't  care  an  old  bent  pin." 

"  Aw !  "  grimaced  Edgar,  much  impressed  by  this 


140          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

brilliant  and  original  retort.  "  I  ain't  a  sneak, 
neither.  You  stop  now  — "  Then  he  suddenly  van- 
ished, as  if  jerked  from  within  by  the  legs. 

Phil,  with  deepening  reluctance,  made  her  slow 
way  to  the  house.  What  on  earth  was  she  to  say  or 
to  do,  if  her  stepmother  asked  the  plain  question: 
"  Have  you  disobeyed  me  already,  and  been  playing 
with  those  beggars  next  door  ?  " 

She  did  not  enjoy  telling  lies.  They  did  not  come 
easily,  and  Cousin  Betty  had  once  made  her  see 
that  a  lie  was  a  good  deal  like  a  splinter  in  one's 
thumb,  apt  to  go  deep,  to  hurt  worse  and  begin  to 
fester,  before  it  could  be  taken  out.  Phil  wondered 
uneasily  whether  that  first  lie  of  hers,  the  one  spoken 
yesterday,  had  not  already  begun  to  fester.  There 
was  certainly  a  sore,  uncomfortable  sensation  in  her 
heart,  the  place  where  such  poison  would  work. 

Mrs.  Merrill  was  in  her  small  sewing  room,  mark- 
ing towels.  On  the  floor  near  her,  Edgar,  with  the 
same  sheet  of  paper  spread  out  and  a  pencil,  wrote 
with  his  unbandaged  right  hand,  making  queer 
lines  of  childish  block  letters. 

As  his  stepsister  entered,  the  boy  looked  up  quickly, 
and  made  a  most  frightful  face.  Phil  promptly  did 
likewise. 

"  Children !  chil-dren !  "  protested  the  mother. 
<l  Can't  you  even  see  each  other  without  wanting  to 
spat?  It  is  very  discouraging.  Philomel,"  she 
went  on,  looking  straight  into  the  girl's  eyes,  "  you've 
been  absent  for  nearly  two  hours.  Were  you  in  the 
orchard  all  of  that  time  ?  " 


PHIL'S  FIRST  SUNDAY       141 

"  Yes'm,  yes,  Mother,"  answered  Phil  breath- 
lessly, and  then,  before  a  second  query  could  possibly 
follow,  she  threw  herself  to  the  floor. 

"  What  are  you  trying  to  do,  Edgar  ? "  she  cried 
with  suspicious  eagerness.  "  Oh,  I  see,  you're 
printing  out  poetry.  I  can  write  it  just  fine.  Let 
me  show  you !  " 

"  No,  you  don't,"  snapped  Edgar,  grabbing  at  the 
pencil  she  had  snatched  from  his  hand.  "  I'm  doin' 
this  all  by  myself ;  I  don't  b'lieve  you  know  anythin' 
about  po'try." 

"  But  I  do"  the  other  insisted.  "  Once  I  wrote 
a  whole  long  one  about  a  jay-bird  that  was  beautiful. 
Cousin  Betty  copied  it  off.  It  went : 

" '  Pretty  jay-bird  in  the  tree, 

I  know  you're  chirping  right  at  me.' " 

Edgar  showed  symptoms  of  wavering.  In  the 
brief  silence,  Mrs.  Merrill,  who  had  been  watching 
Phil  keenly,  opened  her  tightly  drawn  lips,  but  be- 
fore she  could  utter  the  words  pinched  between  them, 
Edgar,  in  a  new  burst  of  doubt,  exclaimed,  "  I  knew 
you  didn't  know  anythin'.  My  po'try  ain't  about 
birds;  they  are  silly.  Mine's  all  about  injines." 

"  Oh,  I  know  injines  too,"  declared  Phil  almost 
tearfully,  ducking  her  face  out  of  sight  of  the  step- 
mother. "  Listen  to  this,  Edgar;  it's  lovely: 

"  '  Noble  red-man  of  the  wood, 

They  say  you're  bad, —  but  I  know  you're  good.'  " 

she  recited  dramatically. 


142         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Edgar  gaped  widely,  his  eyes  and  his  mouth  both 
open.  "Injines  don't  run  in  the  woods! "  he  cried 
scornfully.  "  They  go  on  tracks,  and  say, —  Choo 
—  choo,  chuff  —  chuff,  and  then  they  toot !  " 

"  Oh,  those  kind  of  engines,  you  mean,"  laughed 
Phil,  quite  hysterically.  "  You  certainly  are  smart 
to  write  poetry  about  them.  And  you  are  drawing 
a  locomotive  to  go  with  it !  Oh,  Edgar,  it's  lovely ! 
Let  Phil  see.  '  The  injine  is  puffin'  smoke,'  "  she 
read,  as  if  dazzled  by  wonder.  "  Now  you  want 
something  to  rhyme  with  that  '  smoke.'  There  are 
plenty  of  words, —  '  choke/  '  broke,'  and  f  joke/  I 
never  dreamed  you  could  do  things  as  pretty  as 
these." 

The  boy,  quite  overcome  by  this  torrent  of  flat- 
tery, began  to  laugh  excitedly.  Mrs.  Merrill  too 
was  apparently  vanquished.  She  drew  a  short  sigh, 
untightened  her  lips,  and  caught  up  a  yet  unmarked 
towel.  Phil  knew  that  for  the  moment  she  was 
safe. 

During  the  rest  of  the  day,  she  remained  content- 
edly indoors,  playing  so  nicely  with  Edgar,  that  she 
earned  more  than  one  smile  of  approval  from  her 
stepmother. 

After  the  light  supper  of  sliced  ham,  biscuit,  and 
apple  sauce,  with  the  invariable  "  cambric "  tea, 
Mrs.  Merrill  said  to  her  stepdaughter,  "  You  must 
have  a  good  bath  to-night,  Philomel,  and  lay  out 
your  best  clothes  for  to-morrow.  It  will  be  the  Sat- 
bath,  and  you  and  Edgar  are  to  go  to  church  with 
me." 


PHIL'S  FIRST  SUNDAY       143 

"  Goody !  "  cried  Phil,  thinking  of  the  long  drive 
and  the  quiet  little  Episcopal  chapel,  nine  miles 
from  Grandma's  house. 

Mrs.  Merrill  saw  and  interpreted  the  look,  but  did 
not  think  it  worth  while  to  explain  just  then  that  it 
was  a  Presbyterian  church  to  which  they  were  going. 

Phil's  first  waking  thought  next  morning  was, 
"  This  is  Sunday.  I'm  going  to  church  with  Cousin 
Betty !  "  Then  her  face  sobered.  !N"o,  it  could  not 
be  Cousin  Betty  this  time.  The  lonely,  lost  feeling 
came  over  her  again,  and  it  was  not  until  she  remem- 
bered the  new  friends  in  the  crazy-quilt  cottage,  that 
her  spirits  revived. 

"  Will  all  of  the  Bertollottis  be  going  to  church  ?  " 
she  wondered.  "  Of  course,  they  can't  work  in  their 
garden  any,  because  it's  Sunday,  and  it's  a  shame 
too,"  she  murmured,  feeling  herself  rather  wicked 
to  say  it,  "  when  Ma  Comfort's  given  them  all  those 
seeds,  and  it's  the  only  day  Cris  has  at  home." 

But  Phil  had  yet  a  good  many  things  to  learn 
about  the  Bertollottis. 

She  dressed  and  hurried  downstairs  to  a  break- 
fast that  seemed  stiffer  and  more  silent  than  usual. 
Mrs.  Merrill  wore  her  best  black  silk  gown,  and 
over  it  a  big  housekeeper's  apron.  Rebecca  was  also 
in  black.  Her  hard  face  was  harder  than  ever,  with 
the  tense,  cross  expression  that  doubtless  was  her 
special  way  of  showing  regard  for  the  holy  day. 

There  was  no  conversation.  In  fact  no  one  spoke 
until  Edgar,  slipping  down  into  his  chair,  an- 
nounced that  he  did  not  intend  to  eat  his  "  old 


144          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

cereal."     Immediately   the    two    women   bent    over 
him,  coaxing  and  bribing  him  to  a  few  swallows. 

Phil  had  a  swift  vision  of  Hugo,  his  eager  brown 
hand  held  out  for  a  third  cookie.  She  sat  quietly 
regarding  Edgar,  and  almost  hated  her  stepbrother 
when  his  face  grew  so  snarling,  and  his  voice  so 
whining  and  weak.  He  had  tumbled  his  hair  in  his 
wrigglings,  until  the  thin  straying  locks  had  the  look 
of  pale  earthworms  trying  to  crawl  down  into  his 
eyes. 

Phil  had  never  been  taught  to  conceal  her  emo- 
tions, and  her  small,  scornful  countenance  must  have 
showed  only  too  clearly  what  she  was  thinking,  for 
Mrs.  Merrill,  catching  sight  of  it,  said  sharply,  "  If 
you  have  finished  your  breakfast,  you  can  go  to  your 
room,  Philomel.  Make  up  your  bed,  and  see  that 
the  whole  place  is  tidy;  then  you  can  sit  there  and 
read  until  I  call  you  for  church.  There  can  be  no 
playing  or  romping  in  this  house  on  the  Sabbath." 

"  All  right,  I'll  go  up,"  replied  Phil,  and  gladly 
enough  made  her  exit. 

The  entire  Merrill  family,  including  the  rigid 
Rebecca,  were  driven  to  church  by  a  village  hackman 
called  "  Grudge."  Phil,  on  first  beholding  Mr. 
Grudge,  thought  the  name  strangely  appropriate. 
"  Why  was  it,"  she  asked  herself,  "  that  everybody 
except  the  Italians  felt  it  necessary  to  look  so  awful 
cross  on  Sunday  ?  " 

The  church  proved  to  be  a  plain  white  building 
that  to  Phil's  eyes  looked  rather  like  a  barn. 

A  very  old  gentleman  in  everyday  clothes  stepped 


PHIL'S  FIRST  SUNDAY       145 

up  to  the  reading-desk  and  began,  "  O  Lord,  we  have 
met  here  to-day."  The  people  all  bent  their  heads, 
but  not  a  single  one  opened  a  prayer  book. 

A  long  hymn  was  sung,  and  then  the  small  'Pisc- 
erpalean  waited  impatiently  for  services  to  begin. 
But  what  followed  was  an  interminable  prayer,  with 
the  congregation  standing  up  on  their  feet.  Some- 
thing was  dreadfully  wrong  with  the  whole  per- 
formance, because  when  the  next  hymn  was  sung, 
every  one  remained  seated.  The  child  could  not 
have  been  more  bewildered  had  she  been  stood  up  in 
the  corner  of  the  pew  on  her  head. 

Once  Phil  ventured  a  small  glance  around,  and  to 
her  joy  met  fully  the  kind,  shining  eyes  of  Ma 
Giddings,  who  smiled  broadly,  and  nodded  such 
encouragement  that  the  rest  of  the  time  passed 
briefly. 

As  the  congregation  filed  out,  some  of  the  ladies 
paused  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Merrill.  They  looked  down 
at  Edgar,  and  then  added  a  word  about  good  Doctor 
Merrill's  little  daughter.  Phil  somehow  got  the 
idea  that  the  ladies  were  pitying  Mrs.  Merrill  be- 
cause of  the  Doctor's  little  girl. 

Slipping  away  from  her  stepmother's  friends, 
Philomel  managed  to  gain  a  warm  handclasp,  and  a 
few  hurried  words  with  Ma  Comfort. 

"  Philomel,"  came  the  stepmother's  voice.  See- 
ing Phil's  companion,  Mrs.  Merrill  said  somewhat 
stiffly  "  Oh,  good  morning,  Mrs.  Giddings.  I  am 
sure  you  are  very  kind  to  put  up  with  my  daughter 
so  much.  I  appreciate  it,  and  by  the  way,  will  you 


146          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

please  tell  your  husband  I  shall  want  a  small  flounder 
for  dinner  to-morrow  ?  " 

The  remainder  of  that  first  Sabbath  day  was  for 
Phil  a  long  and  apparently  endless  misery. 

She  was  forbidden  to  climb  trees,  or  to  sing  other 
than  hymn  tunes,  to  write  poetry,  or  even  to  play 
jacks, —  in  spite  of  Edgar's  whining  insistence. 

"  Then  what  can  children  do  in  the  house  on  Sun- 
days ? "  Phil  demanded. 

"  You  can  read,"  Mrs.  Merrill  replied.  "  Wot 
fairy  tales,  of  course,  or  any  such  nonsense,  but 
have  you  no  Sunday-school  books,  or  pretty  Bible 
stories  among  those  you  brought  with  you  ?  " 

"  Nome  —  no,  Mother,"  answered  Phil  wearily. 
"All  the  books  that  I  like  is  about  fairies  and 
princes  and  princesses." 

"  Very  well,  then,  Edgar  has  plenty  of  suitable 
ones.     Suppose,"      Mrs.      Merrill      added,      "  that 
you   read   a   short  Bible   story   out   loud   to   your 
brother." 

From  sheer  boredom  Phil  was  about  to  accede, 
when  Edgar  cried  petulantly,  "  But  I  don't  want  her 
to  read  to  me.  She  reads  like  a  colored  girl.  I 
want  you  to  read,  Mommer." 

"  I  will,  dear,  but  you  must  try  not  to  be  so  nerv- 
ous. Come  lie  down  on  this  couch  beside  mother. 
How  would  you  like  the  story  of  '  The  Good  Shep- 
herd and  the  Little  Lost  Lamb '  ?  " 

"  All  right,"  said  Edgar  ungraciously. 

Phil  hung  about  for  a  few  wistful  moments,  hop- 
ing that  she  too  might  be  bidden  to  listen,  but  Edgar, 


PHIL'S  FIRST  SUNDAY       147 

perceiving  it,  called  out  crossly,  "  You  go  way,  Phil ! 
this  is  my  book,  and  it's  my  Mommer  reading.  Send 
Phil  up  to  her  room,  Mommer ;  I  don't  like  the  way 
she  looks  at  me." 

"  Edgar  is  unusually  nervous  this  afternoon, 
Philomel,"  suggested  the  mother,  in  a  voice  that 
showed  some  regret  for  driving  the  sister  off.  "  I 
think  maybe  it  would  be  better  if  I  read  to  him 
alone." 

Phil  turned  and  went  slowly  from  the  room.     Her 
feet,  as  they  dragged  up  the  stairs,  were  of  lead. 
With  every  step,  the  fuzzy  lump  in  her  throat  grew 
larger,  and  not  until  the  top  flight  did  she  move 
more  rapidly.     All  that  she  wished  now  was  to  reach 
her  small  room,  to  fling  herself  down  on  the  bed,  and 
cry  out  her  lonely  homesickness. 

"  Cousin  Betty,  my  dear  Cousin  Betty,"  she 
sobbed,  as  if  that  kind  distant  friend  could  hear  her, 
"  I  want  you  so  much.  If  you  were  here,  you  would 
read  me  about  the  Lost  Lamb." 

On  opening  her  door,  the  first  thing  that  met 
Phil's  tear-dimmed  vision  was  the  picture  that 
looked  so  like  Annunciata,  smiling  straight  into  her 
eyes. 

Instead  of  a  flight  to  the  bed  as  she  had  planned 
it,  Phil  wiped  her  tears  on  the  sleeve  of  her  best  Sun- 
day frock,  went  up  to  the  dresser,  and  leaning  both 
elbows  on  the  white  cover,  began  studying  the  print. 
In  her  loneliness,  the  bright-colored  face  seemed  to 
be  in  reality  a  flake,  a  small,  vivid  reflection  of  the 
girl  she  had  begun  to  adore. 


148          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Phil  whispered  low  words  to  it,  drawing  in  solace 
from  the  dark,  gentle  eyes. 

"  I  don't  care  if  they  won't  let  me  listen  down- 
stairs, 'Nunciata,"  she  said.  "I  know  some  poetry 
about  a  lamb  that  is  beautifuller  than  anything  in 
Edgar's  old  book.  It's  about  April  too,  and  this  is 
April.  It  goes: 

"  '  All  in  the  April  morning, 
April  airs  were  abroad; 
The  sheep  with  their  little  lambs 
Pass'd  by  me  on  the  road. 

'  The  sheep  with  their  lambs 

Pass'd  me  by  on  the  road; 
All  in  an  April  evening 

I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God.' 

"  Isn't  that  pretty  ? "  she  asked  of  the  picture. 
"  Can't  you  just  see  those  little  white  lambs  with 
their  mothers  ?  " 

The  picture  seemed  to  smile,  "  Yes." 

"  The  next  verse  is  sadder,"  Phil  warned  before 
repeating  it.  "  But  it's  lovelier  even  than  those 

others : 

" '  The  lambs  were  weary,  and  crying 

With  a  weak  human  cry, 
I  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God 
Going  meekly  to  die. 

'  Up  in  the  blue,  blue  mountains 

Dewy  pastures  are  sweet: 
Rest  for  the  little  bodies, 
Rest  for  the  little  feet. 

'  Rest  for  the  Lamb  of  God, 
Up  on  the  hill-top  green, — ' 


PHIL'S  FIRST  SUNDAY       149 

"I  —  I  —  don't  think  I  remember  any  more  of 
it,"  Phil  declared  rather  chokingly.  "  It's  the  sad- 
dest of  all,  and  I  can't  say  it,  because  I'm  —  I'm 
crying.  I  —  I  can't  say  another  word." 

Sobbing  softly,  she  bent  her  head  over  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  drawing  herself  together,  Phil  stood 
up,  her  head  lifted,  her  face  radiant. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  and  in  her  excitement  spoke 
loudly,  "  I'll  go  right  downstairs  this  very  minute, 
and  tell  my  stepmother  how  wicked  I've  been.  I'll 
confess  all  the  stories  I've  told  her,  and  the  way  I've 
been  disobeying  her.  It's  what  the  Lamb  of  God 
would  want  me  to  do,  and  Ma  Comfort  too.  I'll 
promise  all  over — " 

At  this  moment  her  glance  fell  upon  the  picture. 
It  still  smiled,  but  the  eyes  appeared  larger  and 
softer  with  unshed  tears.  Phil  pressed  her  hand  to 
her  throat.  What  was  she  planning  to  do  ?  To  con- 
fess, and  by  so  doing  to  give  up  once  and  for  all  her 
beautiful  friendship? 

After  that  confession,  she  never  again  could  so 
much  as  speak  to  her  dear  Annunciata;  never  hold 
warm,  cooing  Rosa  Maria  in  her  arms;  never  plant 
seeds  with  Tony,  Jo,  and  Lucia,  or  dig  in  their 
muddy,  red  cave.  She  must  give  them  all  up  and 
forever. 

"  I  can't  lose  them  all ;  Oh,  dear  Lamb  of  God, 
please  don't  ask  me.     They're  my  neighbors,   and 
you  know  your   Father   said   I   must   love   them. 
Don't  make  me  give  them  up  when  I've  only  just 
found  them." 


150          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

She  shut  her  eyes  tightly.  Her  hands  clenched 
with  the  heat  of  her  passion,  and  all  the  pale  little 
face  quivered.  "  I  don't  b'leeve  he  wants  me  to  do 
it,"  she  said  firmly,  "  and  I  don't  think  I  can,  and 
I  won't." 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

A.    "  BLUE    MONDAY  "    SEEMON 


PHILOMEL  had  been  glad  enough  to  creep  early 
to  bed  at  the  end  of  that  long,  dreary  Sabbath ; 
but  once  under  the  covers,  she  found  sleep  no  easy 
boon  to  secure. 

She  tossed  from  one  side  to  another,  pounding  and 
doubling  her  pillow  in  search  of  a  cool  spot  for  her 
cheek,  but  even  when  one  was  found,  and  her  hot 
face  pressed  deep  against  it,  sleep  refused  to  come. 

Though  Phil  did  not  yet  realize  the  cause  of  her 
trouble,  it  was  conscience  that  kept  her  awake.  Here 
and  now,  she  was  facing  her  first  sharp  battle  be- 
tween right  instincts  and  wrong  ones. 

Inside  of  the  restless  young  head,  two  Philomels 
argued  and  protested.  One  whispered  of  the  peace 
of  repentence  and  confession,  the  other,  and  more 
subtle,  said,  "  Shucks,  Phil,  don't  you  know  she  isn't 
your  own  mother  ?  She's  only  a  *  step,'  and  you 
wouldn't  be  here  at  all,  if  Grandma  hadn't  died. 
What  fun  can  you  have  playing  with  a  spoiled,  whin- 
ing boy  like  Edgar?  The  Bertollotti  children  are 
just  crazy  about  you,  and  you  about  them.  Don't 
think  for  one  minute  of  giving  them  up." 

Phil  woke  early,  strangled  and  fighting  her  pillow. 
Her  ears  were  full  of  strange  sounds.  A  rain  had 
come  up  in  the  night,  and  the  tin  gutter  outside,  near 


152          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

her  window,  clicked  and  gurgled  with  the  rushing 
water.  From  across  the  hall  came  Kebecca's  reso- 
nant snores. 

The  next  thing  she  heard  was  a  knock  on  her 
door,  and  Rebecca  saying  crossly,  "  Git  outer  your 
bed  in  there,  you  Phil'mel.  It's  after  seven,  and 
this  is  Blue  Monday." 

By  the  time  breakfast  was  over,  the  rain  had 
ceased,  but  the  clouds  remained  low  and  threatening, 
and  the  whole  earth  was  swathed  in  a  gray  mist. 

Phil  went  back  upstairs  to  make  her  bed,  and  to 
put  the  small  room  into  its  accustomed  bare  or- 
der, and  then,  after  digging  down  into  her  trunk  for 
a  remembered  pair  of  overshoes,  she  slipped  them  on, 
and  went  in  search  of  her  stepmother. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  you  can  go,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  in 
response  to  her  daughter's  request.  "  I'm  sure  I 
don't  know  what  Mrs.  Gidings  can  want  with  you  on 
a  day  like  this." 

Phil's  eager  explanation  beginning,  "  But  Ma 
Comfort  always  wants  me,"  was  cut  short  by  a  wave 
of  the  hand,  and  an  impatient,  "  Never  mind,  I  said 
you  could  go  for  a  while.  Of  course,  personally,  I 
would  be  pleased  if  you  wanted  to  stay  at  home  and 
help  amuse  Edgar.  He  is  so  fretful  on  an  over- 
cast day,  but  I  suppose  it  is  too  much  to  expect." 

"  And  it  certainly  is"  thought  the  sister  to  herself. 

"  Be  sure  you  are  here  in  good  time  for  luncheon," 
were  Mrs.  Merrill's  next  words,  and  then  as  an  after- 
thought she  added,  "  You  had  better  take  this  old 
umbrella  along.  It  was  your  father's." 


A  "BLUE  MONDAY"  SERMON    153 

Phil  seized  the  umbrella,  and  made  all  possible 
haste  to  escape.  Edgar  ran  after  her  as  far  as  the 
front  door.  "  You  hateful  old  thing !  "  he  called 
peevishly.  "  I'll  get  even  with  you  yet,  'cause  you 
won't  stay  here  and  play  jacks  with  me;  you  see  if 
I  don't!" 

There  was  no  retort.  Phil's  one  wish  was  to  get 
out  of  sight,  not  only  of  Edgar's  scowling  face, 
but  also  of  the  gray,  cheerless  home  in  which  she 
lived. 

As   she   passed   under   the    overhanging   orchard 
branches,  she  saw  that  the  pink  flowers  were  still 
drenched,    their   rain-beaten   petals   glued   together, 
and  that  from  them  fell  a  steady  drip,  drip  to  the 
road  beneath. 

She  tried  to  open  the  old  umbrella,  but  it  stuck. 
After  some  effort  she  managed  to  raise  it  part  way, 
and  thrusting  her  head  as  far  as  possible  upward  into 
its  musty  folds,  walked  along,  knowing  herself  safely 
screened  from  the  temptation  of  looking  in  at  the 
Bertollottis. 

As  Phil  neared  the  houseboat,  the  strains  of  Ma's 
singing  quavered  out  through  the  gray,  chilling  mist. 
This  time  it  was  no  song  of  tender  romance,  or  wail- 
ing of  lovers'  despair,  but  the  hymn  which,  only  yes- 
terday morning  in  church,  had  nearly  reduced  the 
listener  to  tears. 

"  Oh-ho-ho,  £Tapp-pee  ia  the-he-he  man  who-hoo-hoo  hears, 

De-sfrucf-shuns  war-har-nin'  voice; 
An'  happ-pce  he  who-hoo-hoo  turns  to-hoo-hoo  God 
An'  may-hay-ftafces  uv  heav'n  his  choice." 


154          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Under  these  lugubrious  sounds,  the  faint  lessening 
of  gloom  that  the  sight  of  the  houseboat  had  brought 
to  Phil  sank  to  a  deeper  abyss.  Very  soberly,  she 
climbed  down  the  four  steps  to  the  front  deck,  and 
went  in  at  the  open  door  of  the  cabin. 

Mrs.  Giddings  sat  in  her  rocking  chair,  mending 
a  snag  in  her  blue  kitchen  apron.  Hearing  some 
one  coming,  she  pushed  up  her  steel-rimmed  spec- 
tacles and  lifted  a  rosy,  bright  face  that  made  a 
strange  contrast  to  the  words  and  the  tune  she  had 
just  paused  in  singing.  Before  Phil  could  speak, 
Ma  Comfort  held  out  the  apron.  "  Your  Laddie 
done  that,"  she  announced,  thrusting  two  fat  fingers 
out  from  the  three-cornered  hole.  "  I  never  did  see 
such  a  critter  for  boundin'  and  leapin'.  I  had  to  beg 
Pa  to  take  him  along,  in  deliverin'  fish  and  clams." 

11 1  don't  care,"  said  Phil  in  a  tone  of  resigned 
misery.  "  I  mean  I  don't  care  about  Laddie's  be- 
ing away,  —  not  the  hole  in  your  apron.  Somehow, 
this  morning  I  don't  seem  even  to  love  Laddie." 

"Hoity,  toity,"  exclaimed  Ma,  instantly  sympa- 
thetic. "  That  ain't  no  way  for  my  little  grand- 
darter  to  talk.  What's  went  wrong  to  home?  Is 
your  Ma  and  Rebecca  peeved  because  they  can't  get 
their  wash  out  this  morriin'  ?  Some  good  folks  is  af- 
flicted that  way." 

"Nome,  I  didn't  hear  them  say  anything  about 
washing,''  answered  Phil  in  the  same  doleful  voice. 
"  They're  not  much  crosser  than  usual.  It's  not 
only  them,  but  somehow  everything  this  morning 
seems  so  quiet  and  gray  and  dismal." 


A  "BLUE  MONDAY"  SERMON     155 

"  There  now !  Jest  listen  to  that,"  cried  Ma  dis- 
approvingly. "  What  do  you  suppose  the  good  Lord 
holds  back  sunshine  for  now  and  then,  if  it  ain't  to 
give  humans  a  chanst  to  make  some  of  their  own  ?  I 
loves  rainy  days,"  she  declared  with  emphasis.  "  I 
b'leeve  I'm  happiest  of  all  on  them  days.  Why,  I 
wouldn't  no  more  live  in  one  of  them  heathen  coun- 
tries what  don't  have  rain, —  the  kind  John  talks 
about, —  than  I'd  live  in  a  land  where  the  folks 
don't  have  no  religion." 

Phil  drew  up  her  chair,  put  both  arms  on  the  table, 
and  fixing  two  big,  somber  eyes  upon  her  companion, 
demanded  with  startling  clearness,  "  What  is  relig- 
ion, Ma  Comfort  ? " 

Mrs.  Giddings  dropped  her  sewing,  and,  inciden- 
tally, stuck  a  needle  into  her  thumb.  "  Laws  a 
mussy !  "  she  exclaimed,  honestly  staggered,  "  JN"ow 
how,  in  Jerusalem,  can  Ma  answer  a  whole  question 
like  that  all  in  a  minute.  Why,  religion,  you  know, 
—  why  —  religion,"  she  stumbled. 

Phil  broke  in  impatiently.  "  Oh,  I  know  it's 
something  about  going  to  church,  and  reading  the 
Bible,  and  saying  your  prayers  every  night.  But  I 
don't  mean  those  things,"  she  said,  fretfully. 
"  Anybody  can  see  them.  What  I  mean  —  I  mean," 
here  it  was  Phil's  turn  to  stumble.  "  Is  that  your 
church,  Ma  ?  "  she  asked,  finally  giving  up  the  knotty 
problem.  "  The  one  where  I  saw  you  yesterday  ? 
The  one  what  my  stepmother  calls  *  Presbyter- 
ian'?" 

At  this  question  Ma  relaxed,  as  it  were,  into  a 


156          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

great  wave  of  relief,  for  here  was  a  query  to  which 
she  could  reply. 

"  Law,  no,  child !  "  she  answered.  "  I  couldn't 
run  long  with  them  good  Presbyterians.  They  don't 
never  loosen  up  their  denominational  corsets.  As  to 
jinin'  their  church, —  they  wouldn't  have  me  as  a 
gift, —  not  with  a  pound  of  fine  tea  throwed  in  for 
a  premium.  But  don't  make  no  mistake  'bout  they 
bein'  jest  what  they  purfesses  to  be, —  honest,  sanc- 
terfied  Christians.  Me  and  Pa  Giddin's  is  yet  to 
have  trouble  with  a  Presbyterian  payin'  his  bills. 
They's  high-minded,  all  right,  but  when  it  comes  to 
fo'leevin'  like  they  do,  'bout  bein'  predestined  to 
wrath,  and  the  skulls  of  poor  unbaptised  babies  — 
No,"  ended  Ma  with  a  vigorous  shake  of  her  head, 
"  them  kinds  of  hard  doctrines  ain't  for  old  Comfort 
Giddin's." 

"  Then  why  do  you  go  to  their  church  if  you  don't 
believe  in  it  ?  "  questioned  Phil,  in  her  most  com-, 
monsensical  manner. 

Mrs.  Giddings'  eyes  twinkled.  "  You  think  you 
got  Ma  that  time,  don't  you,  Miss  Smarty?  Well, 
the  fact  is,  I  guess  I'm  made  funny.  It's  a  clear 
case  of  any  church  bein'  better'n  no  church  with  me. 
I  seems  jest  to  like  settin'  amongst  people  that  is 
shed  all  their  meanness  for  an  hour,  and  is  gathered 
together  praisin'  God.  I  never  felt  piouser  in  my 
life  than  onst  when  a  rainstorm  drove  me  into  a  sin- 
nergogue.  An  old  boy  with  whiskers  read  outer  the 
Bible, —  the  same  Bible  we  has, —  and  never  was  the 
hook  read  more  fervent.  As  I  sat  there  amongst 


A  "BLUE  MONDAY"  SERMON     157 

them  quiet,  listenin'  Hebrews,  I  kept  on  sayin'  under 
my  breath,  '  They's  got  the  reel  thing, —  is  these 
Jew-folks.  They  b'leeves  what  they  preaches,  and 
lots  of  them  practice  it  too!  And  after  all,  where 
would  we  be,  how  could  they  be  any  Christians,  if  it 
warn't  for  the  Jews  ? ' 

"  But  that  isn't  Presbyterians,"  Phil  reminded. 
"  We  were  talking  'bout  the  Presbyterian  church  yes- 
terday." 

"  That's  so,"  admitted  the  other.  "  Yes  we  was. 
Well,  I  goes  to  that  church  a  little  oftener  than  to 
the  others,  jest  because  old  man  Quirter's  so  feeble. 
He  couldn't  hold  down  his  job  in  the  city  no  more, 
and  the  synod,  they  wished  him  on  to  Kington. 
Sence  it's  did,  it  seems  to  me  up  to  the  Christians  in 
Kington  to  make  the  old  fellow  feel  that  he  ain't 
wastin'  his  ministrations  here  amongst  us." 

This  exalted  philosophy  being  somewhat  beyond 
Philomel's  reach,  she  flung  in  a  new  question. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  in  my  church,  Ma  Comfort  ? 
In  a  'Piscerpalean  church  anywhere  ?  " 

"  Has  1 1  "  cried  Ma.  "  More  times  than  I'm 
takin'  these  stitches.  Now  there's  reel  folks  for  you, 
—  all  settin'  up  straight,  and  smellin'  so  clean,  and 
answer  in'  back  from  their  little  gold-edged  books, 
like  nice,  biddable  Sunday-school  children.  I  don't 
blame  them  for  likin'  their  ways.  And  they  ain't 
no  other,  exceptin'  it  be  Roman  Catholics,  that  is  so 
eartin  sure  of  their  church  bein'  the  best  if  not  the 
only  one." 

This  eulogy  left  Phil  slightly  cold.     "  When  you 


158          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

were  a  little  girl,  Ma,"  she  pursued  rather  tim- 
idly, "  did  you  go  to  the  'Piscerpalean  Sunday 
school?" 

"  ~No,  dearie,  it  didn't  happen  to  chanst  so,"  was 
the  answer.  "  From  the  first  I  was  made  for  a 
peaceful,  easy-goin'  old-fashioned  Methodist,  jest  as 
Pa  Giddin's,  bein'  a  seafarin'  man,  was  cut  out  for  a 
Baptist." 

Phil  sighed.  "  Why  should  there  be  so  many  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  churches  anyway,  Ma?  It's  awful 
confusing." 

The  broad,  smiling  face  sobered.  "  That's  a  ques- 
tion I've  asked  myse'f  more  times  than  they  is  checks 
on  this  apron,"  she  said  gravely. 

The  child's  eyes  grew  even  darker  and  more  wist- 
ful. "  There  can't  be  more  than  one  God  and  one 
Jesus,  now  can  they,  Ma  Comfort  ? "  she  asked, 
speaking  the  great  names  with  reverence. 

"  Don't  seem  so,  now  do  it,"  replied  Mrs.  Gid- 
dings,  and  echoed  the  little  girl's  sigh.  Then  with 
a  determined  biting-off  of  a  short  length  of  thread, 
and  an  arousing  of  her  whole  manner,  she  cried  out, 
"  Of  course  they  ain't,  dearie !  What  foolishness 
is  this  we  been  talkin' !  There  is  jest  only  the  one 
shinin'  Father,  fillin'  all  space  with  His  light,  as 
sure  as  that  ocean  out  there  is  filled  full  of  water! 
We  lives,  moves,  and  has  our  bein'  in  Him,  like  the 
fish  swimmin'  'round  in  that  sea." 

The  listener's  troubled  face  brightened.  "I  be- 
lieve I  know  what  you  mean,  Ma,"  she  cried. 
"  Yes,  I  know  that  I  do.  All  the  different  named 


A  "BLUE  MONDAY"  SERMON     159 

Christians  are  just  different  named  fish.  And  so 
long  as  you  are  good,  and  do  what  he  tells  you,  God 
don't  care  a  nickel  whether  you  call  yourself  a  trout, 
or  a  catfish." 

"  You  got  it !  You  got  it  first  time,  little  gran'- 
darter,"  exclaimed  Ma  Comfort  in  delight.  "  The 
only  puzzlin'  part  is  the  namin'.  Now  sayin'  the 
same  sort  of  thing  in  another  plain  way,  you  might 
liken  them  to  the  labels  I  glues  to  them  jellies  and 
jams,  back  there  on  my  preserve-closet  shelves.  The 
flavor  of  fruits  is  a  little  bit  various,  and  a  good 
thing  they  is !  But  the  great  fact  remains  to  be  this, 
—  that  all  is  made  sweet  with  the  same  God-f earin' 
sugar,  an'  biled  in  the  same  big  old  pot  of  human 
experience.  All  we  mortals  need  strive  for  is  to  get 
our  full  share  of  that  sugar,  and  bile  long  enough 
to  keep  us  from  sourin'  an'  bustin'  our  jars." 

"Oh  — oh!"  rippled  Phil  in  an  ecstasy.  "Of 
course  it's  like  that  perzackly.  That's  all  we  need 
up  at  our  house,  some  more  sugar.  And  Ma,"  she 
inquired,  as  a  new  fancy  took  her,  "how  do  you 
reckon  we'd  label  'Nunciata  ?  " 

Ma  considered,  turning  the  now-finished  patch 
this  way  and  that,  until  a  slow  grin  widened  her 
large,  pleasant  mouth.  "  I  guess  we  might  call 
Nuncy-yawter  a  sort  of  Madonna  brand,  impoted 
out  of  Italy,"  she  remarked,  chuckling  aloud  at  her 
own  wit. 

Phil  laughed  too,  but  in  a  moment  more  the  anx- 
ious frown  had  come  back. 

"  My  stepmother  and  Rebecca  say  she's  a  Papist. 


160          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

I  don't  know  what  Papist  is,  but  it  doesn't  sound 
nice.  What  is  it,  Ma  Comfort  ?  " 

"Pooh!  That  for  old  shad-bellied  Rebecca!" 
cried  Mrs.  Giddings,  snapping  two  fingers  in  scorn. 
"  What  does  she  know  about  it,  I'd  like  to  ask  ? 
Why,  me  an'  Pa  lived  for  a  whole  summer  onst  in  a 
small  Dago  village,  where  all,  to  a  man  and  the  lit- 
tlest baby,  was  Catholics, —  what's  the  same  that 
Rebecca  means  by  Papists.  They  was  never  sweeter, 
kinder,  or  more  lovin'  folks  to  each  other  than  them 
Dagoes, —  jest  like  the  Bekkylokki's  back  there  on 
our  own  Bible  Road. 

"  They  tried  proselytin'  of  me  and  your  Pa  Gid- 
din's,"  reflected  Ma,  seeing  how  deeply  Phil  was  in- 
terested. "  But,  Lord !  It  run  off'n  Pa's  old  weather- 
tanned,  Baptist  back  like  water  poured  on  to  a  drake." 

"  Did  Pa  go  to  his  own  church  yesterday  ? " 
queried  Phil,  "while  you  and  me  was  at  Doctor 
Squirters'  ?  " 

Ma  struggled  to  keep  her  face  straight.  "  Don't 
let  it  be  known,  little  gran'darter,"  she  said  solemnly, 
"  but  John  Giddin's  ain't  no  more  of  a  Baptist  than 
you  is  a  saucepan.  He's  a  heathen,  John  is,  'thout 
no  reverence.  Why,  sometimes,  to  hear  that  blas- 
phemious  old  sinner  go  on,  you'd  think  that  him  and 
the  Almighty  went  out  a-fishin'  together,  settin'  side 
by  side  on  the  log,  and  diggin'  out  bait  from  the  same 
old  tin  can.  It's  awful,"  Ma  cried,  trying  hard  to 
appear  both  shocked  and  indignant.  "  As  if  the  Al- 
mighty had  nothin'  better  to  do  than  set  there  wastin' 
time  with  a  skinny  old  sailorman !  " 


A  "BLUE  MONDAY"  SERMON     161 

Phil  pondered  this  strange  picture  gravely.  All 
at  once  her  face  flashed  into  brilliant  tenderness. 

"But,  Ma,  how  can  we  know  that  God  don't?" 
the  thrilling  voice  challenged.  "  Uncle  John  is  so 
good  to  everybody, —  and  dogs  too ;  and  you  know 
when  Jesus  was  on  earth  how  much  He  loved  good 
fishermen.  Maybe  Jesus  learned  loving  them  from 
His  father." 

Mrs.  Giddings'  face  grew  very  red,  while  strange 
twitchings  appeared  at  the  corners  of  her  still-smil- 
ing mouth.  She  wiped  her  eyes  furtively.  "  Now 
of  all  blessed  babes  and  sucklins',"  she  murmured 
unsteadily.  "We  don't  know  it,  dearie !  "  she  cried 
out.  "And  I'm  the  blasphemious  sinner  to  doubt 
it,  and  one  more  thing  I  have  to  tell  you  is  this,  that 
no  one  church  ain't  been  built  big  enough  to  hold 
John  Giddin's'  love  for  his  Maker !  " 

Phil  nodded  entire  belief  in  this  statement,  "I 
bet  too,"  she  ventured,  "  that  Pa's  church  is  best  of 
them  all,  just  because  it  hasn't  any  fence  around  it, 
or  a  roof  to  shut  you  in.  I  wonder  what  he  would 
think  of  the  Foot-Washing  Baptists,  where  Mammy 
Jane  goes,  and  the  Holy-Rollers,  that  'Lijah  joined 
just  before  I  left  Grandma's  2  " 

Ma  looked  startled.  "  Holy-Boilers !  Foot- 
Washin'  Baptists,"  she  echoed  incredulously. 
"  Well,  I  thought  I  heern  tell  of  them  all,  but  these 
two  beats  me.  What  does  they  do?  What  kinder 
sex  is  they,  child,  I  wanter  know !  " 

"  Why,"  stammered  Phil,  striving  to  recall  some 
details,  "  I'm  not  sure,  but  I  think  that  in  Mammy's 


162          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

church,  once  every  year  all  the  sisters  have  to  get 
down  on  their  knees  and  wash  the  elder's  old  foots, — 
feet,  I  mean, —  and  then  wipe  them  off  with  the 
hairs  of  their  heads,  like  a  lady  in  the  Bible." 

Ma  showed  signs  of  suppressed  mirth.  "  Well, 
and  the  Rollers  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  stifled  voice. 

"  They  were  something  right  new,"  Philomel  re- 
plied. "  When  'Li jah  wanted  to  join,  Mammy  said 
she'd  take  every  inch  of  black  skin  off  his  hide  be- 
fore she'd  let  him, —  but  he  did.  You  roll  over  and 
over  on  the  ground,  or  the  floor,  and  when  you  are 
dizzy  enough,  the  l  Sperrit '  makes  you  holler,  and 
cry,  and  tell  things  that  are  going  to  happen.  I 
wanted  to  hear  'Li jah  hollering,  but  Cousin  Betty 
wouldn't  let  me.  She  said  it  was  just  like  a  dog 
having  fits."  . 

"  I  guess  your  Cousin  Betty  was  right  too,"  agreed 
Mrs.  Giddings,  drying  her  eyes  on  her  apron.  £fow, 
rising,  she  tied  the  blue  checks  around  her  waist,  and 
observed  in  her  usual  dominant  way,  "  That's  enough 
of  religion,  even  for  a  Blue  Monday.  The  sun's 
strugglin'  out,  and  I  must  get  at  my  washin'.  Don't 
you  bother  that  little  gold  head  of  yourn  any  more 
'bout  such  questions,  my  lamb.  Jest  you  be  good, 
mind  your  stepma,  and  be  kind  to  folks  around  you, 
for  the  Good  Shepherd  said  they  ain't  but  jest  those 
two  things  to  remember, —  love  God  and  your  neigh- 
bors. It's  all  there, —  so  kiss  Ma,  an'  let's  get  to 
work.  You  can  put  more  real,  genuine  religion  into 
cheerful  work,  than  anything  else  I  know." 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

GBOWING    TIME 

THE  seeds  of  vines,  vegetables,  and  annuals 
given  to  the  Italians  by  Mrs.  Giddings  on  the 
day  of  her  welcoming  visit  had  sprouted  as  one,  and 
were  now  cheerfully  engaged  in  fulfilling  Ma's 
promise,  that  for  swiftness  they  should  rival  the 
famed  beanstalk  of  valiant  young  Jack. 

With  all  of  their  vigor,  however,  and  the  constant 
weeding  and  tending  by  childish  hands,  it  would  be 
some  time  yet  before  they  had  grown  big  enough  to 
soften  the  ugliness  of  the  cottage. 

Passers-by  on  Bible  Road  still  averted  their  faces, 
muttering  something  about,  "  beggars  —  intruders 
—  emigrants  —  and  disgrace." 

In  the  whole  neighborhood  the  scorn  of  the  Hop- 
kins family  was  the  most  bitter.  Mrs.  Hopkins, 
especially,  took  pains  to  declare  to  her  friends  that 
the  nuisance  next  door  was  not  to  be  tolerated,  and 
that  her  husband  would  soon  find  a  way  to  be  rid  of 
"  that  foreign  den  of  disease." 

Philomel  was  deeply  interested  in  all  things  con- 
cerning the  Bertollottis,  and  longed  to  see  their  bare 
garden  space  "  come  alive."  She  found  frequent 
means  of  creeping  over  to  them  through  the  orchard, 
and  each  occasion  was,  of  course,  a  new  falsehood,  an 


164          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

act  of  direct  disobedience.  Phil  recognized  this 
quite  well,  but  even  the  torments  of  conscience  had 
no  power  to  make  her  relinquish  these  wonderful 
friends. 

The  same  instinct  which  had  prevented  her  from 
telling  Ma  Comfort  of  the  enforced  promise  kept  her 
now  from  imparting  it  to  Annunciata.  Phil  had 
seen  in  the  Italian  girl  a  certain  gentle  dignity,  a 
deep-seated  pride,  which  might  easily  have  resented 
the  fact  of  Phil's  persistence  in  coming,  when  for- 
bidden to  do  so  by  her  stepmother. 

Besides  these  stolen  visits  of  the  American  girl, 
no  resident  of  Kington,  except  kindly  Mrs.  Gid- 
dings,  and  less  frequently  her  husband,  ever  entered 
the  poor  little  home. 

Under  the  old  Merrill  roof,  life  went  on  in  the 
same  dull  routine.  Edgar's  dog-bite  was  by  now 
practically  healed.  A  small,  angry  scar  at  the  base 
of  his  thumb  was  still  used  as  a  lever  when  trying  to 
persuade  Phil  into  playing  jacks,  or  telling  him  one 
of  her  fairy  tales. 

Mrs.  Merrill  made  no  suggestion  as  to  the  desir- 
ability of  Laddie's  return,  and  seeing  how  happy  the 
beautiful  collie  appeared  in  his  new  quarters,  Phil 
did  not  urge  it.  Indeed  she  rather  rejoiced  that 
Laddie's  absence  gave  her  one  more  clear  excuse  for 
getting  away  from  Edgar,  Kebecca,  and  her  step- 
mother. 

The  dog  was  already  an  established  member  of  the 
Giddings  family.  His  exile  upon  Treasure  Island 
was  over.  Pa  had  built  him  a  kennel,  painted  white 


GROWING  TIME  165 

with  green  trimmings,  and  tucked  it  snugly  away  on 
the  sand,  just  under  the  stern  of  the  house  boat. 

Being  a  sailor-man,  John  Giddings  kept  by  him  a 
good  store  of  paint  pots  and  brushes.  When  Ma 
Comfort  suggested,  as  she  stood  near  watching  the  last 
touches  being  given  the  kennel,  that  he  let  "  the 
Eye-talian  boy  Cris  have  a  bucket  and  brush,  so's 
he  can  paint  out  that  turrible  mince-meat  of  letters 
and  pieces  of  pictures  on  the  side  of  their  house," 
Pa  nodded,  well-pleased.  He  at  once  lit  his  rancid 
old  ship  lantern,  and  went  through  the  hatchway 
down  into  the  hull,  to  return  with  an  astonishing 
hoard. 

He  gave  Cris  not  only  paint,  with  a  couple  of 
brushes  for  applying  it,  but  he  brought  up  an  ex- 
tension ladder,  which  required  the  combined  strength 
of  five  Bertollottis  to  drag  from  the  beach,  and  along 
Bible  Road  to  their  house. 

Two  layers  of  white  on  the  "  crazy-quilt "  walls 
made,  indeed,  an  astonishing  difference.  Just  on 
the  frame  of  the  front  doorway,  when  the  first  coat 
was  not  quite  dry,  toddling  Rosa  Maria  had  pressed 
a  small  open  hand,  leaving  a  mark  like  a  starfish. 
When  preparing  to  put  on  the  second  coat,  Cris,  see- 
ing it,  smiled,  and  outlined  the  mark  in  a  delicate 
oval.  Rosa  Maria's  initials  and  her  age  he  wrote 
underneath,  and  then  the  whole  family  assembled  to 
exclaim  and  rejoice  over  their  new  treasure. 

White  paint  and  green  vines  were  indeed  trans- 
forming the  walls  of  the  cottage,  but  the  dreadful 
patched  roof  of  tin,  shingles,  and  slate  still  re- 


166          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

mained  a  problem.  It  was  the  sick  father  in  town 
at  the  hospital  who,  talking  it  over  with  Cris,  finally 
reached  a  solution. 

The  moment  real  summer  appears,  said  the  "  Pa- 
dre," the  stove  now  in  front  of  the  fireplace  must  be 
moved  to  the  next  room,  and  the  pipe  thrust  out 
through  the  wall  at  the  rear.  A  square  piece  of  tin, 
hammered  off  from  an  old  kerosene  can,  with  a  hole 
cut  into  the  middle,  and  placed  around  the  pipe, 
would  make  it  perfectly  safe. 

This  meant  that  the  perky  red  chimney  need  not 
be  heated  at  all,  but  might  be  used  as  a  central 
point  in  training  the  vines  upward,  and  from  its  tip 
wires  could  be  led  to  the  corners  of  the  house,  supple- 
mented with  more  wires,  twine,  and  cord,  stretched 
and  interwoven  into  a  network.  Later,  when  the 
swift  growing  vines  should  finally  meet  and  spread, 
a  complete  and  exquisite  roof  of  green  leaves  would 
cover  the  patched  one.  In  exactly  the  same  way,  the 
spindling  posts  at  the  corners  of  the  piazza  could  be 
built  out  into  stately  columns  of  fresh  verdure. 

For  all  of  this  training,  much  wire  and  string 
were  demanded.  Pa  Giddings,  being  told  of  the 
need,  merely  smiled,  disappeared  into  the  hold, 
and  a  few  moments  later  came  back,  one  arm  crooked 
through  a  great  coil  of  galvanized  wire,  the  other 
hand  swinging,  along  with  the  lantern,  a  tar-smelling 
object  that  looked  like  a  frazzled  old  hornet's  nest, 
but  which  turned  out  to  be  a  loose  knot  of  twine. 

Ma  beamed  as  she  saw  him  emerge  from  the  hatch- 
way, and  cried  out,  "  If  you  don't  beat  the  Dutch, 


GROWING  TIME  167 

you  John  Giddin's !  I  honestly  believe  if  a  heathen 
Chinee  come  round  here  inquirin'  for  the  tomb  of  his 
ant-sisters,  you'd  dive  down  in  that  hull,  and  climb 
up  with  the  slab  in  your  arms." 

The  great  weekly  event  for  the  Italians  was,  of 
course,  the  visit  of  Cristofo.  He  came  to  them  di- 
rectly from  the  hospital,  and  there  was  always  an 
eager  and  breathless  silence  of  listening  for  the  last 
news  from  "  Poor  Padre." 

On  this  special  Saturday,  Phil,  who  had  come  to 
the  cottage  on  pretext  of  wanting  to  read  in  the  or- 
chard, stood  near  with  the  family. 

To  her  utter  dismay  the  tall  boy,  with  his  arm 
over  Mrs.  Bertollotti's  shawl-clad  shoulders,  ad- 
dressed himself  chiefly  to  her,  and  because  of  it, 
spoke  Italiano.  Not  one  word  could  Phil  under- 
stand. From  the  nods,  sighs,  and  faint  smiles  of 
the  others,  she  knew  that  what  Cris  was  saying 
brought  much  comfort. 

"  Yes  —  yes,"  Annunciata  now  murmured  (she, 
thank  goodness,  was  using  American).  "  I  was  sure 
Padre  would  take  the  big  interest  in  our  making  a 
garden,  and  I  was  just  thinking  it  would  help  him  get 
well.  His  work  in  Italia,"  she  said,  turning  toward 
Phil,  "was  in  gardens.  He  hates  the  city,  poor 
Padre ;  if  only  he  could  be  with  us  here !  " 

This  fervent  wish  caught  Mrs.  Bertollotti's  atten- 
tion. She  looked  appealingly  from  Annunciata  up 
into  the  face  of  her  boy.  Her  lips  began  to  move 
and  twitch ;  her  hands  clasped  and  unclasped.  All 
at  once,  starting  back  from  the  group,  she  flung  both 


168          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

arms  wildly  into  the  air,  and  wailed  out,  "  Oh, 
Mother  of  God!  Mater  Dolorosa!  What  to  me  are 
the  flowers  and  vines  and  the  beauty!  What  the 
sunshine  outside,  or  the  fat  lady's  fishes!  My 
heart  dies  within  me  for  a  sight  of  my  husband, 
Enrico.  I  must  see  him!  I  shall,"  she  said 
fiercely.  "  I  am  not  yet  the  cold,  sensible  Ameri- 
canos that  you  are, —  you  children !  Stand  aside. 
I  will  go.  On  my  feet  will  I  walk  to  the  city.  An- 
nunciata, you  can  cook  the  polenta.  I  care  not  if 
you  starve,  all  of  you !  Do  I  not  hunger  and  starve, 
here  —  here  —  here  ?  "  At  these  words  she  struck 
her  thin  breast  till  it  sounded  to  Phil  like  old 
Mammy  Jane  making  beaten  biscuit.  "  Yes,  I 
perish  for  one  sight  of  Enrico !  " 

Cris  and  Annunciata  sprang  forward  to  restrain 
the  now  frenzied  woman.  She  continued  to  call  on 
God  and  the  Virgin,  fighting  blindly,  and  trying  to 
bolt  through  the  door. 

In  shivering  terror,  Phil  clutched  Tony,  who 
•chanced  to  stand  near.  "  Oh,  Tonio,  what  is  it  ? 
What's  she  saying  ?  " 

"Aw!  she's  jus'  trowin'  fits  fer  to  see  de  old 
man,"  answered  Tonio  calmly.  "  She's  done  it  be- 
fore. It  ain't  nuttin'.  She'll  be  troo  in  a  minute." 

Sure  enough,  in  a  very  brief  time,  the  poor  soul 
was  "troo."  Annunciata  kissed  her  wet  cheeks, 
Cris  patted  and  soothed  her,  and  shy  little  Lucia, 
stealing  up,  caught  her  mother's  left  hand,  and,  with- 
out speaking,  held  it  tight  against  her  heart. 

With  a  pitiful  effort  to  smile,  the  Madre  looked 


GROWING  TIME 

around  on  the  young,  loving  faces,  and  stooping  over 
Annunciata,  lifted  the  end  of  the  orange-colored  ker- 
chief, and  began  to  wipe  her  tear-streaming  eyes. 

The  Madre  went  back  into  the  kitchen  and  to  the 
polenta  so  recently  scorned,  while  Annunciata,  deftly 
untying  her  wet  kerchief,  threw  it  down,  and  run- 
ning to  one  of  the  dingy  cloth  bundles  that  seemed 
to  be  established  articles  of  furniture  in  that 
household,  drew  from  its  contents  a  fresh  cotton 
square. 

None  of  the  Italians  seemed  to  consider  the  inci- 
dent as  worthy  of  further  attention,  but  Phil,  shaken, 
and  trembling  at  her  first  sight  of  primitive  passion, 
felt  her  knees  giving  way.  She  sank  down  in  the 
rocker,  and  leaned  her  head  back  against  the  hideoua 
tidy. 

After  this  feast  of  emotion,  the  younger  children 
all  scattered, —  all,  that  is,  except  Rosa  Maria,  who 
was  solemnly  making  her  way  around  the  bare  wall 
of  the  room,  keeping  upright  by  the  sliding  of  tiny, 
outspread,  flattened  brown  hands  that  moved,  inch 
by  inch,  over  the  plaster. 

Phil  remained  in  her  rocking  chair.  Annunciata 
went  to  the  corner,  and  leaned  over  to  kiss  Rosa 
Maria,  and,  as  she  did  so,  picked  up  her  three-legged 
stool,  and  fetching  it  quite  close  to  the  visitor,  re- 
sumed her  eternal  lace  making. 

Cris  was  still  standing  near  them.  He  glanced 
about,  nodding  as  if  something  had  pleased  him,  and 
took  out  from  his  breast  pocket  a  folded  square  of 
white  paper. 


170          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Good  work !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  can  show  this 
to  you  two  girls  now,  without  the  kids  buttin'  in." 

"  Oh,  what  is  it,  Cris, — •  a  picture  ?  "  cried  Phil, 
instantly  curious. 

"  No,  it's  more  of  a  map.  Me  and  Dad  worked  it 
out  to-day  in  the  hospital.  The  nurse  gave  us  an 
old  fever-chart,  and  we  drew  on  the  back  of  it.  It's 
a  plan  of  our  garden  as  it's  goin'  to  be  when  we've 
finished." 

In  speaking,  Cris  had  pulled  out  from  under  the 
table  the  corner  of  one  of  the  benches,  and,  seating 
himself,  spread  out  the  paper  evenly. 

"  And  what's  all  that  written  at  the  bottom  ?  " 
questioned  Phil.  "  Oh,  what  beautiful  writing ! 
Did  your  father  do  that  ?  " 

"  No,  I  done  it,"  answered  Cris,  greatly  pleased. 
"  Do  you  think  you  could  read  it  out  plain  ?  " 

"  I  should  say  that  I  could"  exclaimed  Philomel. 
"  Let  me  see, —  '  Monday,  Tonio  and  Giovanni  and 
Lucia  keep  spading  up  rows  for  more  onions.'  Is 
that  right  ? " 

"  Right  as  rain,"  smiled  the  boy.  "  And  speakin' 
of  rain,  if  we  don't  have  some  soon,  them  kids  has 
to  put  in  all  Tuesday  with  waterin'." 

Phil  eyed  him  in  some  consternation.  "  How  can 
they?  We  haven't  a  speck  of  a  sprinkling-pot.  I 
wish  I'd  brought  mine  from  Grandma's." 

"  They'll  jus'  have  to  borrow  more  lard  buckets 
from  Mis'  Giddin's,"  said  Cris.  "  Gee !  "  he  cried, 
throwing  back  his  spirited  head,  "  But  them  two  old 
people  is  our  friends,  right  enough.  The  day's  got 


GROWING  TIME  171 

to  come  when  I  makes  up  to  them  for  their  kind- 
ness." 

"  Oh,  Cris,  what  does  this  mean  ? "  asked  Phil, 
who  on  reaching  the  schedule  for  Wednesday,  had 
stopped  short  at  the  magical  term  "  Water-garden." 
"  It  says  here,"  she  read  out,  "  '  On  Wednesday,  start 
digging  the  ditch  from  the  bank  to  the  place  near 
the  road  where  the  water-garden  will  be.' ' 

Even  Annunciata  was  interested  to  the  point  of 
laying  her  small  hoop  aside,  and  curving  her  body 
over  the  table. 

"  That's  the  old  man's  dandiest  stunt,"  beamed 
Cristofo.  "  Any  old  place  can  have  vines  and  flow- 
ers for  the  plantin',  but  they  all  can't  have  water 
gardens, —  not  by  a  jugful.  What  we  purpose  to  do, 
me  and  Dad,  is  to  lead  that  thin  trickle  from  Hop- 
kins' fish-pond  down  through  the  marsh  where  it's 
runnin'  out  boggy,  to  the  place  under  the  main  road 
where  it  goes  into  a  culvert ;  and  just  this  side  of  the 
fence,  to  spread  it  out  into  a  pond  of  our  own." 

Phil's  eyes  shone  with  this  vision.  "  A  big  pond  ? 
A  pond  just  like  Constantia's  ?  "  she  cried. 

Cris  shook  his  head.  "  Not  a  big  one  like  that, 
little  Miss  Nighteengale.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
won't  have  no  dangerous,  rotten  dam  for  the  holdin' 
of  it  up.  We'll  make  just  a  flat  shiny  lake,  edged 
with  mosses,  flowers  and  ferns,  and  the  bottom  spread 
over  with  pebbles  brought  straight  here  from  the 
beach.  We  might  have  a  goldfish  or  two  swimmin' 
'round,"  added  the  boy,  his  eyes  twinkling,  "  if  you 
think  Mr.  Giddin's  can  catch  some." 


172          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Oh,  Pa  can  catch  anything,"  stated  Phil  with 
conviction.  "  Ma  Comfort  told  me  once  that  what- 
ever sort  of  sea-critter  Pa  happened  to  want,  it  just 
swam  up,  meek  as  Moses,  and  took  hold  of  Pa's  line." 

"  Some  fishin',  that !  "  smiled  Cris,  rubbing  the 
back  of  his  head,  but  Phil,  ignoring  his  scepticism, 
pulled  down  the  arm  and,  tugging  upon  it,  cried  out, 
"  Oh,  Cris,  please  show  me  just  where  you're  going 
to  dig  it.  I  can't  wait;  I  want  to  see  now.  Come, 
'Nunciata,  come  quick." 

Cristofo,  laughing,  allowed  himself  to  be  drawn 
through  the  door.  Thus  deserted,  Annunciata  had 
a  brief  struggle  between  industry  and  desire,  but  as 
the  temptation  to  follow  gained  the  day,  she  thrust 
her  needle  flat  into  the  lace,  and  sprang  to  her  feet. 

She  moved  toward  the  door,  and  then  drew  back. 
Where  on  earth  was  Rosa  Maria  ?  Surely  only  one 
minute  before,  she  had  been  under  the  table!  The 
big  sister  stooped,  but  there  was  no  Rosa  Maria. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

THE    WATEB-GABDEN 

4  <  T5  AM  BIN  A  !  "  Annunciata  called  softly. 
JJ  "  Little  sister,  where  are  you  ?  " 

"  Google-goo ! "  came  a  small,  laughing  voice, 
startlingly  clear.  Annunciata,  wide-eyed,  stared  in 
the  direction  from  which  the  sound  had  arisen.  Not 
a  trace  of  the  "  googler  "  was  to  be  seen. 

Now  a  crow,  as  of  mocking  delight,  filled  the 
silence,  and  at  the  same  moment  one  of  the  thick 
panelled  doors  at  the  base  of  the  safe  moved  out- 
ward by  an  inch. 

The  girl  ran  swiftly  toward  it,  and  falling  to  her 
knees,  stooped  far  down  to  peer  within.  This  lower 
portion  of  the  wire  safe  was  used  as  the  family's 
one  storehouse.  In  it  was  kept  the  polenta,  the  salt, 
and  the  onions. 

In  the  rear,  flattened  close  to  the  wall,  one  arm 
over  the  bag  of  corn  meal,  her  four  front  teeth  gleam- 
ing, grinned  Rosa  Maria. 

"  Oh,  naughty  one !  "  cried  the  big  sister.  "  You 
must  not  hide  in  there,  Rosa  Maria.  Just  suppose 
you  had  spilled  the  polenta !  " 

The  culprit  was  slowly  dragged  forth  by  one 
ankle.  Reproof  was  evidently  forgotten,  for  hav- 
ing secured  her,  Annunciata  began  rocking  back  and 


174         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

forth  with  the  child  in  her  arms,  covering  the  soft 
face  with  kisses.  "  Oh,  you  are  dear !  You  are 
dolce,  my  Rosa  Maria,"  exclaimed  the  sister  in  Ital- 
ian. "  I  could  eat  you  right  up,  from  your  head  to 
your  toes,  at  this  minute !  " 

In  response  the  baby,  freeing  one  small  arm,  be- 
gan to  beat  her  captor  on  the  nose. 

"  What !  So  tired  of  kissing !  "  Annunciata  de- 
manded. "  Well,  poor  darling,  I'm  sure  I  don't 
wonder.  But  then  it's  your  own  fault,  Rosa  Maria, 
for  being  so  perfectly  sweet !  " 

Now  bearing  the  small,  gleeful  burden,  Annun- 
ciata moved  out  in  the  sunshine  to  find  Cristofo  and 
Phil.  The  two,  ringed  about  with  excited  young 
Bertollottis,  stood  together  at  the  rim  of  a  low  boggy 
spot  that  lay  near  the  road,  and  so  close  to  one  cor- 
ner of  the  old  Merrill  orchard  that,  as  they  talked, 
pink  petals  constantly  drifted  between  them,  waver- 
ing and  then  settling  down  into  the  grass. 

"  The  first  thing  to  do,"  Cristofo  was  declaring, 
"  is  to  go  to  work  on  the  shape.  Or,  I'm  won- 
derin',"  he  added,  his  gaze  growing  thoughtful,  "  if 
we  oughtn't  to  be  diggin'  the  ditch." 

Phil's  eyes  followed  his  to  the  distant  red  bank, 
and  slowly  retraced  the  passage  through  marsh 
growth  to  the  spot  where  they  stood. 

"  Why,  Cris,"  she  ventured,  "  seems  to  me  that 
the  pond  had  better  all  be  scooped  out  first,  and  the 
edges  piled  round  with  dirt  too.  If  you  don't, — 
and  the  water's  turned  in, —  won't  the  children  be  up 
to  their  knees  in  the  mud  while  they  are  digging  ? " 


THE  WATER-GARDEN        175 

"  Sure  thing !  "  exclaimed  Cris,  "  And  good  for 
you,  little  Miss  Nighteengale !  We'll  stake  the  pond 
now.  Eun,  you  kids,  go  and  break  off  a  lot  of  sticks 
from  the  alders  and  willows.  Peel  'em  too,  so's 
they'll  show  white  when  I  plant  them  around.  I'll 
get  Dad's  plan,  and  we'll  dope  out  this  puddle  right 
on  time." 

The  children,  Phil  with  them,  dashed  into  the 
bushes,  and  a  great  snapping  of  twigs  with  gay 
laughter  ensued.  Annunciata  sat  down  on  the  near- 
est gray  stone  with  Eosa  Maria  in  her  lap,  but  that 
infant,  spying  the  strewn  flowers,  slipped  to  the 
earth,  and  was  soon  seated  among  tufts  of  damp 
grass,  contentedly  stuffing  her  mouth  with  the  fallen 
apple  petals. 

The  big  sister  smiled,  not  attempting  to  stop  her. 
Eosa  Maria  had  long  since  proved  that  she  could 
eat  and  digest  anything  this  side  of  soap. 

Cris  returned  with  the  chart,  and  a  few  moments 
later  all  of  the  willow-twig  gatherers  ran  back,  each 
one  bearing  a  sheaf  of  peeled  faggots.  The  Italian 
boy  now  looked  about  for  a  tree  trunk  or  post  to 
which  the  design  might  be  fastened,  as  he  would 
need  constantly  to  refer  to  the  carefully  drawn  out- 
lines. No  trees  except  those  of  the  orchard  were 
near,  and  to  reach  even  the  closest  of  them,  one 
must  wade  deep  in  ooze. 

The  crew  of  young  workers  stood  silent,  and  all 
of  the  grave,  childish  faces  expressed  a  sudden  con- 
cern. 

Finally    Annunciata,    drawing   a  pin   from    her 


176         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

neckcloth,  suggested,  "  Why  don't  you  fasten  it  across 
Tonio's  back,  Cris?  He  could  follow  you  'round, 
and  stand  still  whenever  you  had  to  look  at  it." 

"  Fine ! "  approved  Cristofo.  "  Come  here, 
old  sign  post,"  he  laughed,  reaching  out  for  his 
brother. 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  cried  that  youth,  ducking  and 
grinning.  "  No  bloomin'  billboard  for  mine !  The 
minute  I  wants  ter  see  something  Cris'll  be  a-twistin' 
me  'round  th'  other  way." 

"  Cris,  pin  it  on  me,"  sparkled  Phil.  "  I  don't 
mind;  put  it  here.  I'm  right  flat." 

With  both  arms  extended  and  strained  backward, 
and  her  brown  gingham  chest  nobly  proffered,  Phil 
could  indeed  display  a  boardlike  surface. 

Amid  a  chorus  of  giggles,  the  chart  was  affixed. 
Philomel  had  seen  pictures  of  sandwich  men,  and 
she  thought  of  herself  now  as  such  a  being,  only  of 
course  of  a  more  splendid  importance.  Wherever 
Cris  moved  she  was  near  him,  and,  on  the  instant  his 
dark  eyes  were  lifted,  her  chest  was  thrown  out,  and 
her  arms  made  rigid. 

"  Blue  flag-lilies  are  starting  to  open  back  there 
in  the  marsh,"  said  Annunciata.  "  I  got  one  this 
morning,  to  put  by  the  Blessed  Virgin.  They'd 
look  good  at  the  edge  of  our  pond." 

"  An'  they  is  yaller  ones  too,  Phil,"  whispered 
little  Lucia. 

"Is  they  — are  there?"  said  Phil.  "We'll  be 
sure  to  have  them,  Lucia.  I  love  yellow  flowers! 
I  believe,  if  babies'  laughter  could  be  turned  into 


THE  WATER-GARDEN        177 

flowers,  they'd  just  have  to  be  yellow, —  like  sun- 
shine,—  don't  you  ?  " 

Lucia  nodded.  She  and  her  constant  companion, 
Giovanni,  were  the  silent  and  shy  ones  among  the 
Italians.  Always  cheerful,  attentive,  and  quick  to 
ohey,  they  asked  only  to  work  side  by  side  at  what- 
ever new  task  was  allotted  them.  They  were  not 
unlike  a  low  musical  accompaniment  to  more  vig- 
orous songs.  Little  by  little,  Phil  had  come  to  love 
both  very  dearly. 

Tonio,  rather  ashamed  of  having  refused  to  let 
his  young  back  be  used,  had  gone  to  the  house  for  a 
shovel. 

"  Yes,  you  can  begin  diggin'  in  scallops  where  the 
white  sticks  are  planted,"  agreed  Cris,  in  reply  to 
the  boy's  question.  "  But  make  it  even,  and  hold 
your  spade  straight." 

During  the  week  that  ensued,  Annunciata,  as  over- 
seer and  general  supervisor  of  all  work,  encount- 
ered her  first  difficulties  with  the  three  small  gar- 
deners, for  Tonio,  Giovanni,  and  Lucia  having,  like 
Phil,  become  utterly  fascinated  by  the  term  "  water 
garden,"  went  on  strike,  and  refused  to  work  any- 
where else. 

Tonio,  shouldering  the  one  spade,  an  old  one 
loaned  by  Pa  Giddings,  strode  defiantly  away  to  the 
spot  where  the  pond  was  to  lie,  while  Jo,  with  Ma 
Comfort's  trowel,  and  Lucia,  brandishing  an  old 
kitchen  spoon,  as  sturdily  followed. 

In  vain  Annunciata  besought  them  to  come  back 
and  weed  among  flowers  and  swift-growing  vege- 


178          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

tables.  In  vain  did  she  threaten  Cristofo's  wrath 
if,  in  returning,  two  more  rows  of  tomatoes  had 
not  been  set  out.  For  reply,  Tonio  shoveled,  and 
the  two  others,  side  by  side,  scooped  frantically, 
flinging  earth  about  without  speaking. 

Although  she  lopged  greatly  to  do  so,  Annunciata 
herself  did  not  dare  attempt  outdoor  work.  Those 
delicate  fingers  of  hers  must  be  kept  satin-smooth 
for  the  weaving  of  lace. 

Another  warm,  bright  Saturday  was  here.  The 
entire  Bertollotti  family,  including  Phil,  had  for  an 
hour  past  been  running  back  from  the  house  to  the 
gate  for  a  first  glimpse  of  Cristofo. 

When  they  finally  saw  him,  the  watchers  all 
gasped.  Phil  gave  a  low  frightened  cry,  and  An- 
nunciata crossed  herself  piously,  for,  under  the  boy's 
arm,  as  he  strode  rapidly  toward  them,  was  a  large 
unwrapped  object  that  looked  like  a  corpse. 

Laughing  gaily  at  the  horrified  stares  he  en- 
countered from  the  garden,  Cris  marched  by  with- 
out speaking,  and  set  his  strange  burden  upright  on 
the  verandah. 

"  It's  a  Greek  water  nymph,"  he  announced. 
"  Her  name's  Clytie.  Funny,  ain't  it  ? "  he  in- 
quired, with  a  bright  side-glance  at  Phil,  "  how  most 
of  the  prettiest  girl-names  seem  to  be  Greek  ? " 

Philomel,  delighted  and  embarrassed,  hung  her 
head,  while  a  swift  tide  of  crimson  stole  up  to  her 
cheeks. 

"  Your  nimp's  name  may  be  all  right,"  remarked 
Tonio,  seizing  rudely  on  Clytie's  back  hair.  "  But 


THE  WATER-GARDEN        179 

what  did  yer  bring  de  dame  out  fer  ?  She's  busted. 
Her  elbow  is  cracked,  and  one  foot's  gone." 

"  Don't  you  'spose  I  know  she's  busted  ? "  the 
big  brother  retorted.  "  I  wouldn't  a'  got  her  at  all, 
if  she  warn't.  The  elbow  and  foot's  in  my  pocket, 
an'  a  lot  of  plaster  of  Paris  to  mend  them.  She's 
to  stand  at  the  edge  of  the  pond,  lookin'  down, 
like  you  see  her,  'mongst  the  rocks  and  lilies  and 
ferns." 

"  Oh,  won't  that  be  perfectly  scrumtious !  "  said 
Phil.  "  Is  that  thing  in  her  hand  a  fat  loaf  of 
bread  with  a  very  small  end  ?  " 

Checking  Tonic's,  "  Ho-Ho !  "  with  a  scowl,  Cris- 
tofo  answered,  "  No,  Miss  Phil,  it's  a  conch  shell, 
like  those  on  Mis'  Giddin's'  mantel,  only  bigger,  and 
not  so  pink.  All  the  nymphs  used  to  carry  them, 
same  as  ladies,  these  days,  carry  hand  bags.  You 
see  that  hole  in  the  end  there  ?  "  He  pointed. 

"  Yes,  I  see.  Ma  Comfort's  shells  don't  have  any 
holes  in  the  end,"  Philomel  stated. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Cris.  "  There  ain't 
any  reason  for  them  needin'  such  things,  but  there 
is  a  need  for  this  one.  I'm  goin'  to  lead  water 
through  it,  so's  it'll  fall  down  at  the  edge  of  the 
pond,  and  make  that  pretty  tricklin'  music.  Now," 
he  cried,  turning  away  from  the  statue,  "  let's  all  go 
see  how  much  the  kids  have  done  to  get  Miss  Clytie's 
lookin'-glass  ready." 

Even  when  the  pond  was  scooped  out  to  Cristofo's 
approving  satisfaction,  and  the  granite  boulders  and 
pieces  of  rock  in  place  on  the  banks,  it  required  an- 


180         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

other  full  week  for  the  children  to  fetch  sufficient 
pebbles  to  cover  completely  the  bottom  of  the  ex- 
cavation. No  dark-colored  stones  were  accepted, 
only  smooth,  waterwom  pebbles,  of  clear  white,  pale 
yellow,  or  pink. 

The  next  Saturday,  when  Cris  was  at  home,  the 
digging  of  the  ditch  was  begun.  This  was  "man's 
work  "  as  Tonio  more  than  once  vaunted.  Only  he 
and  Cristofo  dared  undertake  it.  Pa  Giddings  had 
found,  in  his  inexhaustible  hold,  a  second  old  spade, 
and  the  two  boys,  barefooted,  their  trousers  rolled 
high,  splashed,  waded,  and  dug,  while  near  them,  on 
earth  comparatively  dry,  the  others  watched  the 
process. 

The  neat  trench  had  now  gained  that  dank,  soggy 
spot  called  by  all  of  the  children  and  Phil,  "  Saint 
Cristofo's  Ferry  "  and  on  reaching  the  farther  edge 
leading  on  to  the  pond,  Cris  had  stopped  long 
enough  to  find  a  wide  plank,  which  he  laid  over  the 
ditch  with  one  end  touching  the  Merrill's  crumbling 
wall. 

Drawing  his  slim  figure  up,  the  boy  looked  around 
for  Phil  and  catching  her  eye,  cried  out  exultingly, 
"  How's  that  strike  you,  Miss  Nighteengale  ?  No 
more  boggin'  for  you  after  this." 

Phil  eyed  the  achievement  with  mingled  delight 
and  dismay.  Of  course  it  was  an  improvement,  and 
better  than  jumping  from  one  tuft  of  roots  to  the 
other,  and  slipping  at  least  once;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  suppose  some  of  the  Merrills, —  old  Rebecca 
or  Edgar,  for  instance, —  should  chance  to  walk 


THE  WATER-GARDEN        181 

down  through  the  orchard  and  see  it!  What  would 
they  think? 

During  the  warm  days  to  follow,  Phil's  pride  and 
joy  in  the  wonders  being  so  steadily  accomplished 
by  her  friends  never  once  flagged.  She  weeded  and 
dug  with  them.  No  flower  opened  without  her  be- 
ing asked  to  see  and  delight  in  it.  She  and  Ma 
Comfort  loved  to  talk  of  the  Italians,  of  their  in- 
dustry, of  their  lightheartedness  and  wonderful 
kindness,  one  to  another. 

At  Phil's  home,  these  secret  visits  of  hers  were 
not  suspected.  Mrs.  Merrill  indeed  had  once  re- 
marked upon  her  stepdaughter's  long  hours  in  the 
orchard,  "  Why  you  should  prefer  reading  your 
books  in  a  tree,  or  sitting  on  damp  ground,  is  be- 
yond me,"  she  observed.  "  I  don't  see  why  you 
can't  stay  in  the  house,  and  sometimes  read  aloud  to 
your  brother, —  but  if  that  is  your  idea  of  enjoy- 
ment, I  suppose  there  is  nothing  more  for  me  to 
say." 

And  yet, —  with  danger  averted,  and  the  Bertol- 
lotti  garden  changing,  day  by  day,  to  a  carpet  of 
bloom,  with  even  the  lovely  pond  complete, —  Phil 
was  far  from  being  a  contented  or  a  happy  girl. 

It  seemed  as  if,  somewhere  inside  of  her,  there 
was  always  strife.  The  two  Philomels,  who  had 
once  kept  her  wakeful,  now  at  the  most  unexpected 
moments  started  up  a  jangling  discord.  From  an 
hour  of  wild,  carefree  play  with  the  Bertollottis,  she 
would  cross  the  board  of  Saint  Cristofo's  Ferry  and 
creep  home,  feeling  so  languid  and  fretful  that  even 


182          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Rebecca  noticed  it,  and  recommended  sulphur  and 
molasses  as  a  spring  tonic. 

Truly  enough  Phil  was  needing  a  tonic,  but  not 
of  the  sort  given  in  spoons.  As  surely  as  pinks  and 
petunias  were  growing  next  door,  just  so  surely  in 
her  heart,  things  were  spreading  and  strengthening, 
—  the  dark  thorny  weeds  of  hypocrisy  and  deceit. 

At  times,  as  a  kind  of  atonement,  she  did  try  with 
all  of  her  might  to  be  patient  with  Edgar,  silent  un- 
der Rebecca's  fault-finding,  and  courteous  when  her 
stepmother  was  near.  But,  somehow,  these  good 
resolutions  never  lasted  long.  Even  while  striving 
to  be  gentle,  the  sharp  words  managed  to  spring  to 
her  lips  and  be  spoken. 

Rebecca  openly  called  her  a  "  terror,"  while  Mrs. 
Merrill,  more  guarded,  admitted  that  her  stepdaugh- 
ter was  difficult. 

"If  only  I  dared  to  tell  Ma  Comfort,"  thought 
the  child  to  herself,  more  than  once.  "  Ma  would 
make  things  come  right  in  a  minute." 

But  the  web  of  wrongdoing  that  had  been  busily 
spinning  for  so  many  weeks  shut  out  frankness  and 
candor  from  Ma  and  Annunciata,  as  well  as  in 
Phil's  home. 

One  day,  standing  alone  at  the  edge  of  the  pond, 
brooding  darkly,  Phil  thought  that,  were  the  water 
a  little  deeper,  she  would  throw  herself  in  it  and 
drown.  At  this  tragic  picture,  her  eyes  filled  with 
tears  of  self-pity.  "  If  I  were  dead  they'd  be 
sorry,"  she  murmured  wretchedly. 

But  who  other  than  herself  had  cause  to  be  sorry  ? 


THE  WATER-GARDEN         183 

Who,  but  she,  knew  of  the  facts  that  now  wrought 
her  misery  ?  "  Yes,"  she  sighed,  pushing  the  thick 
hair  straight  back  from  her  brow,  "  it's  just  me. 
It's  not  anybody  else  that's  to  blame." 

The  nymph  from  her  conch  shell  poured  silvery 
music.  Two  small  yellow  butterflies  clung  and 
swung  to  a  purple  iris  near. 

Phil  slowly  bent  over,  and  studied  her  fair  child- 
ish face  intently. 

"  I'm  a  liar,"  she  muttered  between  her  clenched 
teeth.  "  I  reckon  the  bad  man  will  get  me.  But  I 
hate  them  at  home, —  and  I  just  can't  give  up  the 
Bertollottis." 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

THE    LITTLE    HOUSE    IN    BIBLE    ROAD 

SUMMER  came  early  that  year,  with  no  single 
capricious  relapse  into  the  chill  days  of 
spring.  Vines  and  flowers  on  the  Bertollotti  house 
and  in  the  front  garden  hurried  as  if  small,  invisi- 
ble earth  fairies  were  lashing  them  upward.  Na- 
ture, it  would  seem,  had  determined  to  make  up  to 
the  Italians  for  the  long  sum  of  human  unkindness 
they  had  suffered. 

But  of  late  there  had  been  definite  signs  of  im- 
provement even  in  this.  Fewer  scowls  were  flung 
over  the  fast-budding  fence,  and  more  smiles  of  ap< 
proving  encouragement.  Many  spoke  of  the 
"  pluck  "  of  the  Bible  Road  beggars. 

Ma  Comfort  repeated  in  triumph  a  remark  made 
by  Mr.  Hopkins,  the  Bertollotti's  chief  enemy,  to 
the  effect  that  he  didn't  see  why  all  his  money  failed 
to  employ  gardeners  who  worked  half  so  well. 

The  words  were  spoken  directly  to  Pa  Giddings 
who,  after  a  moment  of  thoughtfulness  had  replied, 
"  Wall,  Mr.  Hopkins,  when  you  gits  along  in  years, 
as  I  be,  I  guess  you'll  find  out  fer  yourself  that, 
somehow,  there  ain't  none  o'  the  best  things  o'  life 
to  be  bought  jes'  with  money." 

All  that  brown,  hopeful  Italian  fingers  had  toiled 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE          185 

for,  all  that  the  sick  father  had  thought  out,  and 
planned,  and  portrayed,  reached,  in  July,  a  brilliant 
completion. 

Flowers  glowed  with  more  radiant  beauty  and 
clustered  more  thickly  than  stars  in  the  midsum- 
mer sky.  A  blind  man  in  passing  the  garden  would 
have  known  it  was  there  because  of  the  buoyant  per- 
fume wafted  outward. 

Cris  heightened  considerably  the  two  charred 
gateposts,  and  across  the  top  he  nailed  a  branching 
bare  tree  limb,  a  drift  log  which  Philomel's  keen 
eyes  had  perceived  on  the  beach. 

The  ends  stuck  out  quite  a  bit,  turning  the  en- 
trance into  a  sort  of  immense,  verdant  "  H,"  with 
the  upper  bars  of  the  letter  unbroken.  The 
vines,  clambering  in  great  loops  up  and  over,  swept 
downward  again  to  the  fence,  where,  following  its 
line  east  and  west,  the  green  hedgerow  touched  on 
one  hand  the  rim  of  the  old  Merrill  orchard,  and  on 
the  other,  the  rise  of  the  Hopkins'  estate. 

Coral-hued  clusters  of  the  scarlet  runner  burned 
and  tossed  in  perpetual  small  flames.  With  each 
dawn,  a  fresh  crop  of  flaunting  Japanese  morning- 
glories  appeared,  big  as  saucers  and  colored  like 
rainbows.  From  the  gate  and  the  fence,  and  back 
to  a  throng  on  the  house-top,  they  blew  echoes  of 
rapturous  beauty. 

Phil,  gazing  about,  said  many  a  time  to  herself, 
"  It's  a  Peter  Pan  house.  A  reel  Peter  Pan 
house." 

The  walk  from  the  gate  to  the  house  had  been 


186          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

spread  with  white  sand,  brought  pail  by  pail  from 
the  shore,  by  a  small  caravan  of  patient,  black- 
headed  human  ants,  and  bordering  it  at  each  side,,  the 
rich  foliage  making  a  striking  contrast  with  the  glis- 
tening surface  of  sand,  was  a  thick,  crowding  growth 
of  common  dandelions.  This  too  had  been  one  of 
the  Padre's  suggestions. 

When  the  round,  yellow  suns  began  evenly  to 
bloom,  it  was  as  if  strips  of  pure  gold  were  rolled 
back  from  the  fence  to  the  house  front. 

Pedestrians  now  loitered,  staring  and  wondering. 
It  seemed  incredible  that  only  a  few  months  before 
this  spot  had  been  known  as  an  "  eye-sore,"  the 
disgrace  of  an  orderly  neighborhood.  To-day, 
scarcely  a  motor  car  passed,  unless  the  big  gray  one 
of  the  Hopkins',  without  a  quick  order  being  given 
the  chauffeur  to  stop. 

The  richly  dressed  motorists  would  gaze  as  if  not 
believing  their  senses.  "  What  a  miracle !  "  one 
and  then  another  would  exclaim.  Instead  of  the 
hard  words  that  had  often  caused  the  little  lace- 
maker  to  hang  her  head,  and  even  wipe  tears  from 
her  overfilled  eyes,  she  now  joyed  in  listening  to 
such  terms  as  "  Too  utterly  sweet,"  "  Quite  enchant- 
ing," "  A  fairylike  gem  of  a  place." 

Perhaps  in  all  of  the  small  paradise  thus  spread 
out  before  them,  it  was  the  pebble-lined  pond,  with 
its  stones  and  bordering  hillocks  planted  close  with 
ferns,  mosses,  and  iris,  where  the  slim,  drooping 
Clytie  eternally  emptied  her  shell,  that  called  forth 
the  warmest  admiration. 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE          187 

In  between  the  bright  mirror  of  the  pond  and  the 
gold  ribbon  of  dandelions,  following  the  line  of  the 
fence,  there  now  grew  a  level,  continuous  field  of 
many-hued  Shirley  poppies.  The  tissue-like  blos- 
soms were  literally  touching,  and  in  the  whole  web 
and  woof  of  radiant  color  not  one  flaw  was  seen. 
Those  who  gazed  upon  it,  whether  humbly  on  foot, 
tiptoeing  over  the  fence,  or  leaning  back  compla- 
cently against  linen-covered  motor-seats,  needed  to 
wink  hard,  to  be  sure  that  the  vision  was  real. 

How  it  "  happened "  that  good  Mrs.  Giddings, 
three  months  earlier  in  the  season,  after  looking 
thoughtfully  over  the  dreadful  expanse  of  dark  ooze, 
had  been  able  to  go  home,  and  next  day  suddenly  find 
in  her  seed  box  four  whole  packages  of  these  special 
poppies,  is  one  of  those  marvels  better  left  to  the 
working  of  faith  than  to  reason.  Nor  was  it  the 
garden  of  the  Bertollottis  only  that  bloomed.  The 
Hopkins'  quarter-mile  of  Crimson  Ramblers,  planted 
less  than  two  years  before  against  the  new  stone  wall 
that  tried  hard  to  look  old,  showed  an  arresting  and 
continuous  border  of  vermilion. 

On  a  visit  to  Ma  Comfort  and  Laddie  one  day, 
Phil  paused  at  the  top  of  the  hill  and  looked  down. 
She  clearly  recalled  that  chilly  spring  morning,  back 
in  April,  when  she  had  stood  in  the  very  same  spot, 
her  heart  filled  with  compassion  for  the  poor  souls 
who  might  need  to  live  in  the  "  crazy-quilt "  cottage. 

Smiling  now,  she  thought,  "  It's  like  Tannhau- 
ser's  old  wooden  staff  turned  to  roses.  It's  like  Cin- 
derella changed  from  her  sooty  rags  into  a  court 


188          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

dress  of  silver  and  gold.  Don't  anybody  turn  up 
their  noses  at  'Nunciata's  house  these  days." 

Phil  laughed  to  see  that  even  the  Hopkins' 
myriad  of  red  roses,  so  pretentious  in  effort,  merged 
quite  naturally  into  the  rich  brocade  of  the  Italian 
garden,  and  seemed  to  be  merely  an  overflow  of  its 
beauty. 

Moving  forward  to  the  beach,  and  being  still  ab- 
sorbed in  her  pleasing  reflections,  Phil  did  not  notice 
that  she  was  beside  the  wide  driveway  entrance  of 
the  Hopkins'  place,  nor  that  just  within  it  stood  the 
overdressed  Constantia. 

Her  eyes  narrowed  as  they  fell  upon  the  little  girl, 
for  Phil  had  never  forgotten  nor  forgiven  the  jeer- 
ing laugh  the  day  she  fell  into  the  thorn-beset  ditch. 

The  pains  Constantia  took  to  keep  her  back  to  the 
road,  and  the  preoccupied  way  in  which  she  leaned 
over  the  flowers,  fondling  a  cluster,  and  then  bend- 
ing slowly  to  smell  it,  would  have  told  one  far  less 
keen  than  Phil  how  entirely  Constantia  was  aware 
of  her  nearness. 

The  two  were  abreast,  Philomel  trying  to  walk 
like  Eebecca  in  passing  the  "  Eye-talians,"  when  a 
low  voice  from  the  roses  said  "  Hello !  " 

Phil  disdained  a  reply.  Her  nose  twitched,  and 
she  felt  very  important. 

"  Hello,  girl !  "  repeated  the  voice,  this  time  con- 
siderably louder.  "  My  Ma-ma  says,"  it  went  on, 
"  that  you  and  your  brother  could  come  here  and 
play  with  me  sometimes,  if  you  weren't  allowed  to  go 
into  the  house  of  those  filthy  Italians." 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE          189 

"  I  don't  go  inside !  "  Phil's  fear  stung  her  into 
retorting.  "  And  I'm  not  allowed.  I  —  I  just  love 
to  watch  them  from  the  orchard." 

"  I  do  too,"  admitted  Constantia,  drawing  closer. 
"  It's  the  reason  why  I  keep  climbing  that  bank, 
though  Miss  McCracken  says  I  mustn't.  There's 
one  boy  that's  terribly  rude.  Some  day  I'm  going 
to  throw  a  big  stone  down  and  smash  him.  Say, 
girl,  if  you  really  don't  go  into  their  house,  I'll  run 
right  in  this  minute,  and  ask  my  Ma-ma  if  I  can 
play  with  you.  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"My  name's  Phil  Merrill,  but  you  needn't  take 
the  trouble  to  ask,"  said  Phil  coldly.  "  I  don't  want 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  you  or  your  old  stuck-up 
Ma-ma.  You  laughed  when  I  fell  into  your  old 
ditch." 

"  You'd  V  laughed  too,"  said  Constantia,  in  a 
tone  meant  to  conciliate,  "  if  you'd  been  reading 
'  Uncle  Kemus,'  that  part  where  Brer  Eabbit  falls  in 
the  briar-patch.  It's  splendid !  Say,  Phil  Merrill," 
she  coaxed,  moving  closer,  "  if  you  come  in  and 
play,  I'll  lend  you  my  big  Uncle  Remus.  It's 
crowded  with  pictures,  all  funny  ones." 

The  words  of  the  charmer  were  sweet.  Phil  loved 
books,  and  had  never  possessed  a  whole  copy  of 
"  Uncle  Remus,"  though  Mammy  and  'Lijah  used 
frequently  to  refer  to  "  Brer  Rabbit "  as  to  an  inti- 
mate comrade. 

The  struggle  was  brief.  She  knew  that  in  mak- 
ing friends  with  Constantia,  she  must  give  up  her 
visits  to  the  Bertollottis.  With  Annunciata  and  the 


190          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

small  Rosa  Maria  in  one  scale,  and  the  rude  Hop- 
kins child  in  the  other, —  well,  it  did  not  take  long 
to  decide! 

But  because  of  her  genuine  desire  to  read  Uncle 
Remus,  and  to  be  friends  with  a  girl  who  smelled 
and  looked  like  a  wonderful  new  doll,  Phil's  answer 
was  more  curt  than  she  realized. 

"  No,  I  don't  want  to  play  with  you, —  never!  " 
she  declared,  her  blond  head  tossing  defiance. 

Constantia  winced.  Such  snubbing  was  new  to 
her  pampered  existence.  Her  eyes  flashed  with 
anger,  then,  conquering  pride,  she  pursued,  "  If 
you'll  come,  you  can  ride  my  bicycle  all  day." 

Phil  writhed  under  seduction.  She  had  always 
wanted  a  bicycle.  "  I  won't, —  No,  I  wont !  "  she 
cried  out.  "  I  don't  want  your  wheel,  or  your  books, 
neither.  I  don't  like  girls  that  chunk  rocks  down, 
and  call  Tonio  names.  You're  an  airy,  spiled 
minx, —  cause  Rebecca  said  so.  I  wouldn't  come  in, 
not  for  ham!  " 

Leaving  these  barbed  words  to  rankle,  she  strode 
on.  Her  heart  beat  fast  with  excitement.  She  told 
herself  many  times  over  that  she  had  served  Con- 
stantia just  right. 

"  I  reckon  she  thinks  because  she  is  so  rich,  and 
me  and  the  Bertollottis  are  poor,  that  we've  got  to 
do  what  she  says.  But  I  sassed  her  all  right !  "  mut- 
tered Phil,  and  wondered,  even  in  speaking,  why  she 
felt  so  far  from  triumphant. 

The  doubt  made  her  feet  lag.  She  drew  near  the 
house  boat  rather  slowly.  Ma  Comfort,  within,  sang 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE          191 

aloud,   as   if   from  the   depths   of   a  heart  nearly 
broken, 

"  In  the  ha-zel  dell  my  Nellie's  ste-e-e-pin', 

Nellie, —  loved  so  lo-o-o-ng, 
An'  my  mournful,  mournful  watch  I'm  fce-e-e-e-pin' 

Nellie, —  lost  an'  gone. 
Hopes  that  onst  my  boosum  fondely  cfter-r-r-ished, 

Smile  no  mo-o-o-re  on  me. 
Fer  my  dre-e-e-am  uv  love  hath  sadly  per-r-r-ished 

Nellie,  dear, —  with  th-e-e-e- 1 " 

The  listener's  shoulders  moved  irritably.  "  Why 
on  earth,"  she  reflected,  and  not  for  the  first  time, 
"  does  Ma  Comfort,  when  she's  so  gay  and  happy, 
have  to  be  always  singing  about  somebody  buried  or 
dying?" 

But  such  was  the  good  lady's  paradoxical  custom, 
and  Phil,  knowing  it  only  too  well,  resigned  herself 
now  to  the  chorus,  and  the  death-watch  being  kept  by 
the  sorrowing  lover. 

Ma,  over  her  washtub  on  the  little  poop  deck,  rose 
and  fell,  elbow-deep  in  white  suds. 

"  That  don't  look  like  Pa's  shirt,"  stated  Phil,  as 
she  noted  the  gray  gingham  object  that  was,  at  the 
moment,  being  vigorously  soaped.  "  Why,  it's 
Tonio's !  "  she  added,  in  astonishment. 

"  Hush !  "  warned  the  laundress,  glancing  round 
as  though  squirrels  might  overhear  her.  "  'Tis 
Tony's,  an'  the  dirt  I  got  outer  it  would  plant  a 
whole  acre  in  watercress.  This  here  is  Loosher's  red 
caliker,"  she  vouchsafed,  lifting  by  her  thumb  and 
one  finger  a  soggy  and  dripping  brown  lump. 


192          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  And  I  managed  to  git  holt  of  a  pair  of  that  Ho- 
gew's  little  pants.  Lord  ha'  mussj ! "  Ma  ex- 
claimed, distorting  her  nose  at  the  memory.  "  A 
woodpecker's  nest  would  smell  like  a  vi'let  beside 
'em!  They's  over  there,"  she  said,  nodding  ob- 
liquely, "  in  the  garbage  pail,  soakin'  in  lime." 

The  girl  clambered  up  to  the  railing  near  by,  and 
hunched  her  slight  figure  dejectedly.  "  I  do  love  all 
the  Bertollotti  children,  Ha  Comfort,"  she  began, 
"  but  I  do  wish  they  were  cleaner." 

Mrs.  Giddings  cast  a  shrewd  glance  at  the  speaker, 
but  said  nothing. 

"  I  suppose,"  brooded  the  child,  as  no  further  re- 
marks from  the  washtub  seemed  imminent,  "  they 
have  to  be  dirty  because  they  are  emigrants.  My 
stepmother  and  Rebecca  are  always  saying  so.  Is  it 
a  very  bad  thing  to  be  an  emigrant,  Ma  Comfort  ? " 

Thus  directly  appealed  to,  Mrs.  Giddings  drew 
herself  upright.  Her  shrewd,  yet  kindly  eyes,  were 
just  on  a  level  with  those  of  her  visitor. 

"  No,"  said  she  firmly.  "  Emigrants  is  the  very 
foundation  of  our  nation.  What  would  America  be 
to-day  without  'em  ?  A  passel  of  wild  Injuns,  dancin' 
war  dances,  and  whooping  about  with  their  head 
stuck  full  of  turkey  tails.  America,  as  we  knows 
and  loves  it,  is  only  a  great  big  land  of  prosperous 
emigrants.  Look  out  and  around  for  yourself, —  all 
up  and  down  the  beach,  facin'  Hope  Bay.  Not  one 
of  them  big,  shiny  houses,  but  was  built  by  the  son, 
or  the  gran'son  or  the  great  gran'son  of  a  emigrant." 

Phil  obediently  stared  forth  to  the  Bay.     The 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE          193 

various  towers  and  turrets,  rising  in  glittering  peaks 
here  and  there  from  the  midsummer  greenness,  each 
sprang  out  with  a  new  meaning. 

"  It's  God's  truth,"  declared  Ma,  much  pleased 
by  the  effect  she  was  producing.  "  Take  them  cas- 
tles and  towers  and  villers,  one  by  one.  Descend- 
ants of  emigrants  is  livin'  in  one  and  all,  and  them 
what  is  tryin'  to  put  on  most  airs  is  the  ones  most 
ashamed  of  they  origine.  That's  a  rule  for  sizin' 
up  people,  that's  not  failed  me  yit.  Reel  folks  can 
afford  to  act  decent,  but  mushrooms  is  scairt  of  the 
sun.  Why,  jest  for  instance  take  the  old  gran'pa 
of  this  same  Mr.  Hopkins  what's  movin'  heaven  and 
earth  to  run  the  nice  Beckilonnis  away!  Pa  Gid- 
din's  remembers  clear  as  day  when  the  old  feller  ped- 
dled these  shores  with  a  tray  of  danglin'  down  shoe- 
strings, and  brass  collar  buttons.  He, — " 

Phil  here  broke  in  with  a  quick,  low  cry.  On  her 
rail  she  was  more  vibrant  and  quivering  than  the 
most  excitable  squirrel  ever  perched  there.  "  You 
don't  mean  Constantia's  grandpa!  Not  that  stuck- 
up  Constantia's  own  grandpa !  " 

Ma  blinked,  and  caught  her  breath  as  if  at  a  dash 
of  cold  water. 

"  Lordy  Mussy,  for-gim-me !  "  she  muttered,  "  and 
shame  to  you,  old  Comfort  Giddin's,  to  be  talkin' 
eech  mess  to  a  child.  Here,  lemme  pour  out  this 
mud  "  she  grumbled,  as  she  lifted  the  big  tub,  and 
staggered  under  its  weight  to  the  sink.  "  As  John 
Giddin's  says  frequent,  it's  as  nachul  for  me  to  keep 
talkin'  as  it  is  for  a  bilin'  teakittle  to  sing." 


194          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Phil  laughed. 

"  Yes,  my  old  tongue  oughter  be  done  up  in  curl 
papers  every  mornin'  before  talkin'  time  starts. 
But  I'll  tell  you  this  one  thing,  dearie,"  she  called 
back  over  her  shoulder,  with  her  voice  lifted  to 
carry  above  the  clear  running  of  water, — "  this  one 
thing  more,  then  I'm  finished.  It  may  be  up  to 
Americans  to  teach  the  emigrants  to  be  clean,  and 
you  see  for  yoreself  that  I'm  doin'  it,"  she  threw 
in,  with  a  glance  toward  the  clothesline,  whereon 
fluttered  several  small  ragged  garments,  "  but  them 
new  emigrants  is  got  a  whole  lot  to  teach  us  Amer- 
icans too.  Jest  you  show  me  one  single  fam'bly  in 
this  country,  from  Maine  down  to  Texas,  and  out 
West,  from  Californy  up  to  Or'gon,  what  in  the 
space  of  three  months  could  change  a  two-room  dis- 
grace of  a  shanty,  set  down  in  the  middle  of  a  mud- 
flat,  into  what  them  Eye-talians  has  made  of  the 
little  house  in  Bible  Road." 

"  They  couldn't,  nobody  could,  but  just  the  Ital- 
ians," emphasized  Phil. 

"  No  more  they  could,  and  we  knows  it.  An'  by 
this,  all  Kington,  except  them  hard-headed  Hopkinses, 
admits  it, —  that  the  Berkoionntis  is  made  for  them- 
selves, out  of  nothin',  the  show  place  of  this  country. 
And  as  for  the  Eye-talians  themselves,  where  can  you 
find  such  patient  workers,  such  lovin',  unquarrelsome 
children  'mongst  one  another;  a  big  brother  better 
than  Cris,  or  a  big  sister  one  half  so  sweet  as  Nuncy- 
yawter  ?  What  that  fam'bly  come  over  here  for  was 
the  same  thing  that  brings  or  is  brought  all  the  rest, — 


THE  LITTLE  HOUSE          195 

they  hopes  to  get  a  fairer  chanst  of  risin', —  and, 
speakin'  of  risin',"  she  said  hastily,  "  I  got  a  whole 
crock  full  of  yeast  doin'  it,  that  I  must  go  work 
over  oust  more." 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

CRISTOFO'S   PROMISE   IS   KEPT 

A  WEEK  of  unusual  and  stifling  heat  fell  upon 
Kington.  Edgar  was  never  allowed  out  of 
doors  until  after  sunset.  He  was  fractious  and  pale, 
and  his  stepsister,  partly  because  of  the  weather, 
but  much  more  through  the  strain  of  continued 
wrongdoing,  was  as  wayward  as  he. 

The  daily  necessity  of  making  her  bed  and  tidying 
her  room  became  to  Phil  more  and  more  galling. 
Running  downstairs  one  sweltering  morning,  after 
a  mumbling,  protesting  performance  of  the  task,  she 
bore  a  scowling  young  face  to  her  stepmother,  and 
announced  rudely,  "  I've  finished  my  old  room. 
Now  I'm  going  to  light  out  for  Ma  Comfort  and 
Laddie,  where  I  don't  have  to  work  none." 

She  was  whirling  away,  when  a  quick,  "  Stop 
where  you  are,  Philomel,"  checked  her. 

She  turned  half-way  round,  her  lips  sullen. 

"  That  is  no  way  to  ask  my  permission,  Philomel," 
reproved  Mrs.  Merrill.  "  And  I  cannot  allow  such 
language  to  pass  without  correction.  *  Light  out ! 
Don't  have  to  work  none ! '  '  she  repeated  with  a 
delicate  shudder. 

"  'Lijah  always  lights  out  when  Mammy  Jane's 
after  him,"  muttered  Phil  in  defense. 


CRISTOFO'S  PROMISE  IS  KEPT     197 

"  Exactly,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill,  compressing  her 
lips.  "  But  as  it  happens,  you  are  not  Elijah ;  nor  do 
I  care  to  have  Edgar's  speech  contaminated  by  such 
crude,  negro  idioms.  Then  that  dreadful  phrase, 
'  don't  have  to  work  none ! '  Why,  Philomel,  I'm 
amazed !  " 

Old  Eebecca,  who  with  her  dustpan  and  broom 
chanced  to  be  passing,  now  volunteered,  with  a  queer 
look  down  at  Phil.  "  Them  last  words  sounds  to 
me  more  like  the  beggars  next  door  than  a  colored 
boy." 

"  You  go  along,  Kebecca,"  snapped  Phil.  "  This 
ain't  your  tea-party.  Well,  Mother,"  the  child  cried 
impatiently,  facing  about  to  Mrs.  Merrill,  "  can  I 
go  to  the  beach  ?  I  ain't  seen, —  I  mean,  I  haven't 
saw, —  Oh,  shucks !  my  tongue's  twisted.  I  —  have 
—  not  —  seen,"  she  measured  off  carefully,  "  Ma 
Comfort  or  Laddie  for  two  whole  days." 

Edgar  had  sidled  up  close  for  the  pleasure  of  hear- 
ing his  sister  admonished.  His  fretful  voice  now 
rose.  "  If  Phil  goes  to  the  beach,  I'm  a-going.  It's 
too  lonesome  here  all  by  myself  with  nobody  to  play 
with." 

"  Kot  this  morning,  my  darling,"  soothed  the 
mother,  drawing  the  little  boy  close  to  her  breast. 
"  I'm  afraid  to  have  you  out  when  the  sun  is  so  hot. 
Perhaps  later  on  toward  evening  — " 

Edgar  wrenched  himself  free.  "  I  will  go,  too, 
down  to  the  beach,"  he  cried  angrily.  "  You  don't 
want  me  to  have  any  fun!  I  won't  stand  for  it, 
neither.  I'll  run  away,  like  Phil  done.  You  see 


198         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

if  I    don't.     Then  you   and   Kebecca'll   be   sorry." 

Phil's  slow  critical  gaze  went  from  the  speaker's 
face  back  to  his  mother.  "  Edgar  said,  '  Like  Phil 
done,' '  she  remarked.  "  Why  don't  you  scold 
him?" 

Mrs.  Merrill's  cheeks  flushed.  "  I  am  capable  of 
managing  my  son  without  your  advice  or  assistance, 
Philomel,"  she  answered  sharply.  "  Instead  of  im- 
pertinent criticism,  you  had  better  see  the  harm  that 
your  example  of  running  away  has  already  done. 
Edgar  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  before  you  came 
here.  If  now  he  should  stray  and  be  lost,  I  should 
consider  it  entirely  your  fault." 

"  An'  I'm  goneter  stray  and  get  lost,  soon  as  I 
can,"  put  in  Edgar.  "  And  it'll  be  just  to  spite  you, 
you  old  smarty  Phil."  To  give  added  point  to  his 
gibe,  the  boy  thrust  forth  his  tongue  to  a  quite  in- 
credible extension. 

Phil,  prompted  by  her  demon,  and  moving  with 
the  swiftness  of  light,  stooped  over  and  gave  him 
a  "  chuck "  under  the  chin.  "  Grandmammy 
—  grandmammy  —  thith  —  thath  —  thee !  "  she 
chanted  with  elfish  delight. 

"  Oh  —  my  to'n  —  my  po'  to'n,"  screamed  Ed- 
gar thickly,  grasping  the  tip  of  that  member,  and 
pulling  hard  to  see  if  it  held.  "  Philth  made  me 
bite  my  ton'  out,  Mommer!  Spank  her,  quick." 

"  Go  at  once  to  your  room,  Philomel,"  ordered 
Mrs.  Merrill,  as  soon  as  her  voice  could  be  heard 
above  Edgar's  queer  jabber  of  invectives.  "  For 
this,  and  for  your  impertinence  to  me,  you'll  remain 


CRISTOFO'S  PROMISE  IS  KEPT     199 

in  the  house  all  day  long.  Not  one  step, —  not  even 
down  to  the  orchard, —  now  remember !  " 

Phil  did  not  protest  or  rebel.  The  dazzling  vic- 
tory just  won  over  Edgar,  and  that  narrow,  pale 
tongue  so  often  sent  forth  in  derision,  was  enough  to 
make  any  day  sweet. 

As  she  switched  out  of  the  door,  her  very  skirts 
flaunting  rebellion,  she  heard  Rebecca  saying  to  Ed- 
gar, "  Come  out  into  the  kitchen,  my  pet,  and  hold 
your  poor  little  tongue  in  cold  water.  It's  a  shame, 
yes,  it  is!  Your  stepsister  deserves  a  good  whip- 
pin'." 

On  the  following  day,  affairs  at  the  Merrills  were, 
if  anything,  worse.  Mrs.  Merrill,  almost  distracted, 
finally  decided  to  send  for  her  husband's  old  friend, 
the  good  Doctor  Evans. 

Both  children  were  carefully  "  gone  over,"  and  the 
doctor  announced  that  nothing  whatever  was  wrong 
except  midsummer  lassitude. 

Phil,  standing  near,  with  the  doctor's  arm  around 
her,  pondered  the  strange  sounding  word.  "  Lassi- 
tude "  was  a  disease  she  had  never  heard  of. 

Doctor  Evans'  next  sentence  brought  dismay. 
"  It  is  safer,  Mrs.  Merrill,"  he  said,  looking  up  to- 
ward that  lady,  "to  keep  both  youngsters  indoors 
while  this  heat-wave  is  on.  We  can't  run  any  risks 
with  this  frightful  scourge  of  infantile  paralysis 
spreading  as  it  is." 

Two  more  days  filled  with  boredom  and  quarrels 
slipped  by.  The  next  one  was  Sunday.  Phil  woke 
early,  and  lay  in  her  bed  making  plans. 


200         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

There  must  have  been  rain  in  the  night,  for  the 
air  was  much  fresher  and  cooler.  The  family  would 
surely  be  going  to  church,  and  Phil  firmly  decided 
that  she  would  not  be  with  them. 

She  dressed  slowly,  taking  care  to  put  on  only  old 
"  every-day  "  clothes.  Eefusing  to  touch  a  mouth- 
ful of  breakfast,  she  declared  she  felt  as  "  weak  as  a 
kitten  "  and  was  not  able  to  sit  up  in  church. 

"  I  don't  know  about  leaving  you  in  this  big  house 
alone,  Phil,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill  anxiously. 

"  It'll  be  all  right,  Mother,"  pleaded  the  girl  with 
a  fervor  that  made  old  Rebecca  look  suspicious. 
"  I'll  just  stay  in  my  room  on  the  bed,  reading,"  the 
hypocrite  continued.  "  Can  I  have  that  book  of 
Edgar's  about  Jesus  and  the  little  lost  lamb  ?  " 

"  Of  course  you  can  have  it,  dear,"  said  the  step- 
mother kindly.  "  And  any  of  Edgar's  other  books 
you  may  want." 

"  She  shan't  either,"  piped  Edgar.  "  I'm  goin'  to 
hide  them." 

"  Why,  Edgar,  is  that  my  little  boy  speaking  ? " 
grieved  the  mother.  "  Your  sister  is  sick,  and  I 
know  you  will  lend  her  your  books.  Go  and  get 
them." 

The  brother  ungraciously  obeyed,  while  Mrs.  Mer- 
rill, still  brooding  over  Phil,  murmured,  "  If  you 
stay  in  your  room  all  the  time,  and  the  doors  of  the 
first  floor  remain  locked,  I  don't  see  how  any  harm 
can  possibly  come  to  you.  What  do  you  think,  Re- 
becca ? " 

A  quick  hissing  "  Tscht !  "  and  a  jerk  of  the  al- 


CRISTOFO'S  PROMISE  IS  KEPT     201 

ready  bonnetted  head  showed  plainly  enough  how 
Rebecca  regarded  this  pampering. 

Mr.  Grudge  and  his  bony  old  horse  were,  as  usual, 
on  time,  and  the  three  churchgoers  started. 

Phil  flattened  her  straight  nose  against  a  front 
parlor  pane,  until  the  old  surrey  was  well  on  its 
way,  and  then,  with  a  speed  quite  miraculous  in  one 
unable  to  sit  up  in  church,  raced  down  to  the  orchard 
and  through  it,  over  the  plank  of  Saint  Cristofo's 
Ferry,  along  white-sanded  walks  between  vegetables 
and  flowers,  straight  into  the  Peter  Pan  house. 

The  whole  family  was  gathered  in  the  front  room, 
staring  down  at  something  Cris  had  just  set  on  the 
table. 

Phil  worked  her  way  to  the  center  of  the  group  and 
then  stopped  short,  from  sheer  delight  and  amazement. 

"  There,  Miss  Phil,"  cried  Cristofo,  with  a  nod  to- 
ward the  table.  "  There's  your  Laddie  I  promised. 
How  d'you  like  him  ?  " 

At  first  no  words  came,  but  at  length  the  child 
gasped,  "  Oh,  Cris  —  Cris !  How  wonderful !  Did 
you  do  it  all  by  yourself?  It's  Laddie,  my  own 
Laddie,  only  littler !  Do  you  mean  I  can  have  him 
for  mine, —  to  take  home  ?  " 

"  Sure,  I  made  him  for  you.  If  you  find  him  too 
heavy  to  carry,  me  and  Tony'll  take  him  over  when 
you  go." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  but  don't  bother.  I'm  sure  I 
can  lift  him,"  said  Phil  hastily,  and  leaning  over,  put 
both  arms  around  the  statue,  and  tried  it. 

"  Yes  I  can"  she  declared.     "  Oh,  Cris,  it's  the 


202          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

beautifullest  thing  ever,  and  so  perzacerly  like  Lad- 
die, that  all  I'm  afraid  of  is  that  he'll  bark  when  I 
get  him  to  my  house,  and  hide  him." 

The  boy  stared.  "  But  what  should  you  want  to 
hide  him  for  ?  And  why  shouldn't  he  bark  ?  " 

Phil's  face  flushed.  "  It's  Edgar,—  just  Edgar," 
she  explained  after  a  moment  of  agonized  thinking. 
"  I  wouldn't  dare  even  to  let  Edgar  see  him.  He's 
so  spoiled,  that  he'd  break  it  up  sure." 

"  I  know,"  Cristofo  said  darkly.  "  I've  had  my 
dose  of  your  stepbrother,  that  time  he  was  tryin'  to 
fling  stones.  But  even  he,"  the  boy  added,  his  scowl 
passing,  "  would  find  it  hard  to  break  up  Laddie.  I 
brought  out  a  whole  tin  of  plaster  of  Paris  to  mix  up 
with  the  clay.  I^othin'  this  side  of  fallin'  down- 
steps  is  a-goin'  to  bust  him." 

"  I  do  love  it !  It'll  keep  me  from  missing  my  real 
Laddie  so  bad,"  said  Phil,  fondling  her  treasure. 
"  I  can  never  thank  you  enough,  Cris,  for  making 
this  statue." 

"  You've  thanked  me  a'ready,"  answered  Cris,  with 
his  beautiful  smile,  "  in  bein'  so  good  to  Annunciata, 
and  Rosa  Maria,  and  the  others.  I  don't  forget 
things  like  that  in  a  hurry." 

A  few  moments  later  all,  except  Phil  and  An- 
nunciata, were  back  in  the  garden.  Philomel  had 
long  since  ceased  to  be  shocked  at  this  happy,  out-of- 
door  toil  on  Sundays. 

"  Stop  a  minute,"  murmured  Annunciata.  "  You 
haven't  been  over  for  four  days,  and  I've  got  some- 
thing I'm  crazy  to  show  you." 


CRISTOFO'S  PROMISE  IS  KEPT     803 

"Oh,  what?  What  is  it?"  whispered  Phil  ex- 
citedly. 

"  Wait  till  they've  started  to  digging,"  warned 
Annunciata.  "  It's  something  that  Cris  mustn't 
know.  Here,  Phil,  you  sit  on  this  end  of  the  bench 
near  the  table.  You'll  see  them  better  spread  out." 

Tingling  with  a  sense  of  mystery,  Phil  obeyed. 

The  Italian  girl,  moving  softly,  her  ears  keen  for 
a  sound  of  intrusion,  caught  up  her  three-legged 
stool.  She  placed  it  without  noise  in  front  of  the 
old  battered  safe,  and  stood  upright. 

"  It's  your  lace,"  exclaimed  Phil  in  a  low  tone,  as 
she  saw  the  brown  hands  feel  about  overhead,  and 
then  take  up  the  well-known,  flat  pasteboard  box. 
"Is  it  finished?" 

"  Very  near,"  replied  Annunciata,  stepping  down 
from  the  stool  as  noiselessly  as  she  had  mounted  it, 
and  crossing  to  the  table. 

"  The  second  to  the  last  is  on  the  hoop  now,  and 
in  another  week,  I  ought  to  be  able  to  get  through 
the  last  one,"  she  told  Phil.  Talking  always  in  her 
soft,  even  voice  which,  nevertheless,  at  this  moment 
betrayed  deep  emotion,  the  Italian  girl  untied  the 
parcel,  and  began  placing  the  squares  upon  the 
table. 

"  Oh,  here  is  one  I  never  saw  before !  "  cried  Phil, 
as  she  bent  over  a  white  web  which  seemed  to  have 
caught  and  held  a  bird's  nest,  with  a  mother  bird 
and  three  young. 

"  I  like  that  one  well,  too,"  confessed  Annunciata, 
her  cheeks,  so  like  an  autumn  peach,  flushing  to  a 


f 

204          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

warmer  crimson.  "  The  nest  was  so  small  I  couldn't 
crowd  in  the  whole  family,  only  Madre,  and  Lucia, 
and  Hugo,  and,  of  course,  Kosa  Maria.  That  tiny 
one  all  fluffed  up  is  Rosa  Maria,"  she  pointed. 
"  Isn't  she  too  sweet  ?  " 

"  I  do  think  you're  the  smartest  girl  in  all  the 
world,  'Nunciata,  to  do  these  beautiful  things !  I'll 
bet  Mrs.  Hopkins  is  just  crazy  about  them,"  pre- 
dicted the  little  American. 

While  Annunciata  was  crossing  herself  in  order  to 
further  this  prophecy,  Phil,  scowling  a  little,  added 
under  her  breath,  "  I  certainly  do  hope  that  Mrs. 
Hopkins  won't  put  any  of  it  on  Constantia's 
clothes !  " 

As  her  friend  began  to  pile  the  filmy  squares  one 
upon  another,  preparatory  to  putting  them  away, 
Phil  demanded  to  know  what  was  in  the  bottom  of 
the  box.  "  It  looks  like  a  letter,"  she  remarked. 

"  It  is  a  letter.  It's  to  me  from  my  dear  Sister 
Agatha  Mary,  and  inside  is  a  smaller  one  directed  to 
Mis'  Hopkins, —  telling  her  who  I  am,  and  saying 
that  I'm  bringing  her  order  of  eight  pieces,  as  per 
contract  with  the  Holy  Convent,"  stated  Annunciata 
rather  primly,  in  her  effort  to  quote  from  the  let- 
ter. 

"  Oh,  'Nunciata,  please  let  me  see  it  for  myself," 
implored  Phil,  who  in  all  affairs  concerning  the  be- 
loved Italians  was  almost  as  curious  as  Ma  Giddings 
herself  could  have  been. 

"  Why  surely,  Pheelomel  mia.  I  would  love  to 
read  it  to  you." 


CRISTOFO'S  PROMISE  IS  KEPT     205 

She  took  out  the  inner  envelope,  and  sat  down  near 
Phil  on  the  bench.  Side  by  side,  the  two  heads, — 
one  as  dark  as  brown  water  in  shadow,  the  other  pale 
gold,  the  exact  tone  of  the  yellow  butterfly  at  that 
moment  hovering  in  the  doorway,  leaned  above  Sis- 
ter Agatha  Mary's  letter.  The  smaller  envelope 
bore  the  address, 

"  Mrs.  J.  Huntington  Hopkins, 
Towers-by-the-Sea, 

Beach  Avenue  and  Bible  Road, 

Kington." 

"  That's  Mrs.  Hopkins,  all  right,"  declared  Phil, 
in  a  phrase  taken  directly  from  Tonio's  large,  slangy 
store.  "  But  here  is  the  Madre  coming  in  for  the 
polenta.  That  means  it's  most  twelve  o'clock,  and 
I  must  be  taking  my  beautiful  lovely  statue  of  Lad- 
die back  home." 

"  Ah,  Pheel,  do,  for  this  one  day,  being  Sunday, 
atay  and  eat  the  polenta  with  us,"  pleaded  Annun- 
ciata.  "  Cris  is  here.  It  will  make  him  so  happy. 
For  us  all  if  you  stay,  it  will  turn  the  polenta  into  a 
true  festa." 

Phil  groaned  in  spirit  and  outwardly  as  well. 
How  she  did  want  to  stay !  But  the  bright  head  was 
mournfully  shaken,  and  in  words  nearer  the  truth 
than  usual,  during  these  days  of  constant  deceit, 
she  explained,  "  I  can't  this  time,  I  just  can't.  You 
see  I  played  possum  to  keep  from  going  to  church 
with  the  others  and  to  get  the  chance  of  coming  over 


206          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

here.  I've  got  to  get  back  to  the  house  before  my 
stepmother  comes.  Don't  you  see  for  yourself, 
'Nunciata?" 

The  Italian  saw,  and  with  a  smile  in  which  regret 
and  affection  were  dazzlingly  blended,  she  said,  "  If 
you  must,  then,  I'll  go  to  the  edge  of  San  Cristofo's 
Ferry,  to  help  you  carry  this  heavy  image.  Per- 
haps another  Sunday  when  Cris  is  at  home,  you'll  eat 
dinner  with  us." 

Phil  bore  her  treasure  upstairs.  He  was  heavy, 
but  she  thought  of  St.  Cristofo  and  the  infant,  and 
dared  her  loved  burden  to  grow  heavier.  What 
luck  that  she  should  have  received  it  on  the  one  day 
that  all  of  the  family  were  absent!  This  fact 
seemed  to  throw  a  rosy  cloud  of  virtue  over  her  own 
misdeeds. 

Once  up  in  her  room,  Phil  looked  far  and  wide 
for  a  hiding  place.  The  trunk  would  not  do,  as  it 
was  already  more  than  half  full.  She  opened  her 
two  dresser  drawers,  and  found  that  by  putting  most 
of  her  scant  clothing  together,  there  would  be  plenty 
of  space  for  the  image  in  the  lower  one. 

Secreting  it  there,  she  was  careful  to  spread  her 
dresses  and  petticoats  over  it  smoothly.  Then  she 
ran  down  to  lock  all  of  the  doors,  and  had  scarcely 
finished  doing  so  when  the  sound  of  "Whoa,  Ad'- 
mrul "  told  that  the  churchgoers  had  returned. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

ANNUNCIATA  AND  "  THE  GOOD  KIND   MES.    HOPKINS 


BESIDES  the  Madre  and  Phil,  the  secret  of 
Annunciata's  eight  pieces  of  finest  lace  was 
shared  by  Ma  Comfort  alone,  and  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  day  when  the  now  finished  set  was  to  be  de- 
livered, that  cheerful  being  chanced  to  "  drop  in  "  at 
the  Bertollottis,  with  a  large  basket  of  crabs  on  her 
arm. 

She  found  the  two  girls  in  the  act  of  tying  up  the 
flat  box  holding  the  -filet  Phil  had  brought  over 
from  her  tumbled,  top  bureau  drawer  a  somewhat 
shabby  length  of  blue  ribbon,  which  she  was  now 
insisting  should  be  put  around  the  package  for  "  good 
luck." 

As  Ma's  ample  figure  filled  the  doorway,  throwing 
the  room  into  temporary  eclipse,  the  American  child 
looked  up.  "  Oh,  Ma,"  she  cried  out,  "  they  are 
every  one  done.  Isn't  it  splendid!  'Nunciata  is 
going  to  carry  them  'round  to  Mrs.  Hopkins  in  the 
morning,  but  she  wants  to  start  at  six,  and  I  know 
that's  too  early." 

"  Good  gracious !  Of  co'se  it's  too  early,  Nuncy- 
yawta !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Giddings,  as  she  set  the 
heavy  basket  down  on  the  hearth  bricks.  "  That 
soon  in  the  mornin'  ain't  wrote  on  the  clocks  of  them 
rich  folks.  You'd  be  safer  to  make  it  'bout  ten." 


208          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  That's  just  what  I've  been  telling  her,  Ma,"  an- 
nounced Phil  in  some  triumph.  "  And  I  don't  want 
her  to  go  at  six  either.  I  can't  get  away  before 
breakfast, —  and  right  after  it,  I  have  to  clean  up 
my  room ;  but  I  must  be  somewhere  around  when  she 
comes  marching  out  the  Hopkins'  big  front  gate,  with 
her  hands  full  of  money.  How  much  do  you  reckon 
it'll  be,  'Nunciata  ?  " 

"  I  can't  be  certain,"  answered  the  girl  thought- 
fully. "  The  convent  sold  the  others  and  gave  me 
the  money.  I  never  delivered  any  myself,  but  I 
know  these  finest  pieces  bring  a  good  price,  and  with 
eight  of  them,  I'm  sure  to  get  plenty  to  buy  all  we 
need  for  Cris'  festa,  the  cheese  and  spaghetti,  some 
meat,  maybe  even  a  chicken,  with  many  eggs,  and  of 
course  the  fine  oil  that  we  love  more  than  anything 
else." 

"What  species  of  oil  might  that  be,  ISTuncy- 
yawta  ?  "  queried  Ma  suddenly. 

"  It  comes  in  funny,  square  tins,"  Annunciata  re- 
plied, and  began,  in  the  air,  marking  off  the  imag- 
inary height  and  thickness  of  the  olive-oil  can.  "  On 
the  side  is  a  picture  of  a  big  tree  with  a  stepladder, 
and  the  name  of  the  company  that  makes  the  oil. 
I've  ordered  some  from  the  nice  grocery  man  in 
Kington." 

"  I'm  kinder  sorry  you  ordered  so  previous,"  ob- 
served Mrs.  Giddings,  as  if  to  herself.  "  They's 
two  tins  sounds  exactly  like  that  stored  away  in  the 
hull  of  the  houseboat.  But  no  matter,  if  it's  done, 
it's  done.  Here's  Mis'  Bekkyloni  now,  and  I  must 


"  KIND  MRS.  HOPKINS  "       209 

give  her  these  crabs.  My!  how  the  critters  is 
a-hissin' !  I'll  be  on  the  lookout  for  you  girls  about 
ten  to-morrow." 

The  two  ladies,  with  the  crabs,  went  back  into  the 
kitchen,  while  Phil  loitered  a  few  precious  moments 
to  go  over  again  with  her  friend  their  arrangements 
for  meeting  next  morning. 

After  breakfast  the  following  day,  Phil,  moving 
energetically  about  her  small  room  as  she  gathered 
up  books  and  strewn  clothing,  made  frequent,  almost 
incessant  dashes  to  the  window,  in  order  to  keep  a 
sharp  watch  on  the  Bertollotti  cottage. 

Finally,  she  saw  Annunciata,  clothed  in  all  of  her 
poor  little  "  best,"  the  orange  kerchief  starched  and 
ironed,  and  her  shabby  slippers  blackened  with  soot 
from  the  kitchen  chimney,  pass  under  the  flower-set 
gate  and,  with  the  blue-ribboned  box  held  tenderly 
close,  start  along  Bible  Koad  to  the  sea. 

Phil  took  good  care  this  time  to  proffer  her  step- 
mother a  respectful  and  even  ingratiating  request  for 
permission  to  visit  Ma  Comfort. 

It  was  granted,  though  accompanied  by  what 
seemed  to  the  impatient  child  an  endless  list  of  con- 
ditions. She  must  wear  her  wide  sunshade  hat,  for 
again  the  weather  was  torrid.  She  must,  under  no 
circumstances,  run  and  become  overheated.  She 
must  not  get  her  feet  wet,  and  above  all,  she  must 
be  sure  to  be  back  in  the  house  before  twelve  o'clock. 
Phil  wriggled  and  panted  to  be  free,  but  Mrs.  Mer- 
rill's slow  syllables  held  her. 

At  last  she  was  out  on  the  road,  and,  immediately 


210          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

forgetful  of  injunctions,  began  to  run  like  the  wind. 

The  Italian  girl  must  have  been  running  too,  for 
by  the  time  Phil  had  reached  the  Hopkins'  big  en- 
trance that  gave  to  the  beach,  Annunciata,  already 
within,  was  nearing  the  long,  shaded  verandah. 

The  two  friends  exchanged  smiles  and  a  hopeful 
waving  of  hands,  and  then  Philomel  continued  on  to 
the  house  boat. 

Ma  was  somewhere  inside.  A  clatter  of  dishes 
told  that  she  was  employed  in  "  redding  up  "  her 
small  kitchen.  The  strains  of  a  favorite  ballad  rose 
through  the  air: 

"  Neeta, —  Wha-ha-ha-ha-neeta, 
Ask  thy  soul  if  we  must  part. 
Neeta-wha-ha-ha-ha-neeta, 
Lean  thou  on  my  ha-ar-r-t!  " 

The  word  "  heart "  was  droned  as  if  that  of  the 
singer  were  breaking.  A  pause  followed.  One  not 
knowing  Mrs.  Giddings  would  have  listened  expec- 
tantly for  an  outburst  of  sobs  and  tears,  but  Phil  re- 
alized that,  at  the  moment,  Ma  was  probably  smiling 
over  some  tranquil  thought,  the  woes  of  the  sad 
"  Wha-hah-ha-neeta  "  being  no  more  to  that  amiable 
spirit  than  the  death  of  the  fish  she  was  at  present 
making  ready  for  dinner. 

The  second  stanza  began: 

"  Soft  o'er  the  mountains, 
Ling'rin'  falls  the  summer  moon," 

Phil  thrust  her  head  under  the  awning.  In  her 
present  state  of  excitement,  she  could  not  possibly 


I 
"  KIND  MRS.  HOPKINS  "       211 

wait  for  the  forthcoming  "  fountains  "  or  the  asser- 
tion that  the  day  had  broken  too  soon. 

"  She's  gone  in,  Ma  Comfort,"  the  visitor's  thrill- 
ing voice  cried.  "  'Nunciata's  gone  into  the  Hop- 
kinses.  She's  up  on  their  gallery  right  now !  " 

"  Is  she  so !  "  answered  Ma.  "  Well,  that's  fine, 
but  you  needn't  'a'  startled  me  so's  I  done  stuck  a 
whole  fish-fin  through  the  palm  of  my  hand.  That 
means  turpentine,  and  an  extry  flavorin'  for  John 
GiddinV  dinner.  'Nuncy-yawter's  gone  right  in, 
did  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  has !  Just  as  brave  as  a  lion,  and  look- 
ing so  pretty !  I  think  she's  the  prettiest  girl  in  the 
world,  anyway, —  don't  you  ?  " 

Ma  did  not  answer.  She  had  come  slowly  out  to 
the  poop.  From  it  she  could  see,  just  across  the 
boards  of  the  pier,  the  ornate  gate,  with  its  pillars 
of  brick  and  of  bronze  grillwork,  that  showed  where 
the  rich  Hopkins  family  lived.  She  stood  there  so 
motionless  that  two  of  her  shadow  children,  the  squir- 
rels, crept  up  the  rail  to  her  side. 

"Don't  you  think  'Nunciata  is  lovely®  "  Phil  in- 
sisted, not  so  much  from  a  desire  to  be  agreed  with 
as  because  she  could  not  keep  silent  during  this  ten- 
sion. 

Unconsciously  she  jumped  up  and  down,  so  that 
the  two  squirrels  vanished. 

"  Yes,  she's  pritty,  and  better  than  pritty. 
Nancy-yawter  is  good,"  returned  Ma,  her  eyes  on  the 
gate.  "  They*  is  times,"  the  speaker  continued,  al- 
most as  if  the  words  came  of  themselves,  "  when  the 


212          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

dear  little  soul  is  so  good,  and  so  patient,  and  gentle, 
that  I  feel  kinder  worrit-like.  She's  a  true  child  o' 
God,  if  ever  they  was  one  on  this  earth,"  ended  Mrs. 
Giddings  with  a  sigh  of  conviction. 

"  I  can't  see  why  she  doesn't  come  out  with  her 
money,"  cried  restless  Phil.  "  What  you  'spose  they 
are  doing  in  there  to  'Nunciata,  to  keep  her  so  long  ?  " 

"  Child,"  replied  Ma  Comfort  solemnly,  "  don't 
you  know  yit  that  the  richer  folks  is,  the  harder  it 
hurts  them  to  part  with  their  money  ?  " 

"  Oh,  there  she  is  now!  There  she  is!  "  screamed 
Phil.  "  Why,  Ma,  it  looks  like  she's  crying !  How 
can  she  be  crying  ?  I  must  go  to  her." 

Phil  raced  up  to  the  road,  while  Mrs.  Giddings 
wiped  her  fat  hands,  and  climbed  up  to  the  pier  by 
the  front  steps.  She  seemed  to  be  bigger  and  more 
solid  than  ever.  Her  face,  usually  so  kind  and  so 
pink,  became  stern.  Her  mouth  hardened  to  lines 
that  Phil  had  never  seen  there. 

"  If  those  upstarts  have  dared  drive  that  child 
off !  "  she  said  under  her  breath.  With  the  words, 
Mrs.  Giddings'  well-cushioned  jaw  bones  grew  rigid. 

But  what  else  could  it  mean  ?  She  stood  watching 
the  two  little  figures  that  stumbled  toward  her. 
Three  shadow  children  crept  out,  and  preened  their 
small  bodies  in  safety. 

The  Italian  girl  was  weeping  aloud.  Both  arms 
of  the  other  were  around  her,  and  one  childish  hand 
pressed  the  shining  brown  head  down  to  Phil's 
shoulder.  "  There,  there,"  she  was  saying,  exactly 
as  Ma  had  once  soothed  her,  "  don't  you  cry  so  hard, 


"  KIND  MRS.  HOPKINS  "       2ia 

'Nunciata.     Please  don't  cry  so!     Ma  Comfort  will 
fix  it  all  right ;  you  just  see  if  she  don't  fix  it." 

"  Will  Ma  fix  it  ?  "  said  Ma  to  herself  with  a  snort 
like  a  war  horse.  "  Can  and  will  she  ?  Jest  wait ! }> 

She  went  forward  to  meet  the  young  mourners, 
enclosing  them  both  in  her  big  gentle  arms. 

"Oh,  Ma  Comfort!"  sobbed  Phil,  "they  drove- 
'Nunciata  away.  They  called  her  the  horridest 
names!  They  won't  take  the  lace  because  she  lives. 
down  next  door  to  them !  " 

"  That  part  will  be  saw  to  a  bit  later,"  said  Ma 
grimly.  "  First  thing  now,  is  to  git  Nancy-yawter 
down  into  my  cabin.  This  way,  dearie,"  she  coaxed. 
"  Here's  the  top  step.  Ma  is  holdin'  you  tight. 
You  can't  miss  it," 

"  Set  in  this  cheer,"  she  continued,  when  the  door- 
way was  passed.  "  Them  soft  cushions  will  be  good 
for  you,"  and  lifting  the  slight  form  as  if  it  had  been 
Eosa  Maria,  she  plumped  it  down  in  Pa's  big,  special 
chair. 

"  Now,  Phil,"  she  commanded,  even  before 
straightening  her  body,  "  you  run  out  to  the  ice-box 
and  fetch  her  a  glass  of  milk,  and  a  couple  of  dough- 
nuts. You  can  git  some  for  yourself  later  on." 

Phil  obeyed  with  astonishing  swiftness. 

"  There !  "  said  Mrs.  Giddings,  standing  erect. 
"  Set  them  near  on  the  table.  She  can't  swallow 
jest  yit, —  the  poor  darlin',  but  as  soon  as  them  heart- 
renderin'  sobs  starts  to  stop,  you  can  jest  force  her  to 
eat,  little  gran'darter.  There  ain't  no  form  of  mis- 
ery so  bad  that  a  good  bite  of  eatin'  won't  help  ik 


214          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

As  for  me"  she  broke  out,  both  her  shoulders  thrown 
back,  and  her  whole  figure  bristling  with  excitement, 
"  they  is  fireworks  for  me  in  the  offin' !  Where's 
them  felays,  the  box  full  of  them,  and  the  letter  ? " 

"  She  tore  my  dear  Sister  Agatha  Mary's  letter," 
wailed  Annunciata,  sobbing  afresh.  "  She  called 
her  a  snivellin'  old  Nun, —  and  she  called  me, —  oh, 
the  terrible,  terrible  lady,  and  I  thought  she  was 
good  and  kind !  " 

"  You  saved  them  torn  scraps  of  the  letter  ? "  de- 
manded Mrs.  Giddings  quickly. 

"  Yes,  here  in  my  breast,"  said  the  girl,  beginning 
to  search  for  them.  "It's  in  only  one  tear,  right 
across.  Oh,  how  could  she  be  so  cruel  ?  " 

"  It's  money  that's  softened  her  head,  and  hard- 
ened her  heart,"  asserted  Ma  Comfort.  "  It  'most 
always  acts  that  way  on  idjits.  That's  where  Amer- 
ica's snob  factory  comes  in." 

In  speaking,  Mrs.  Giddings  had  been  looking  down 
at  her  own  hands  which,  having  taken  the  torn  let- 
ter, were  now  fitting  the  two  parts  together.  She 
nodded,  well  pleased.  "  Yes,  I'm  right  glad  it's 
tore,"  she  murmured  as  if  to  herself,  "  I  don't  want 
no  better  legal  ev'dence.  But  here,  let  me  git  busy, 
let  me  git  to  that  woman  'fore  I  bust,  like  that  fish 
Simon  Peter  onst  caught  on  a  Sunday.  You  two 
girls  jest  stay  quiet  in  the  cabin.  I  don't  aim  to  be 
away  long." 

Phil  and  Annunciata  clung  fearfully  together  as 
Ma's  massive  stride,  sounding  like  that  of  a  camel, 
made  the  pier  and  the  houseboat,  even  to  the  glasses 


"  KIND  MRS.  HOPKINS  "       215 

of  milk  on  the  table,  shiver  and  shake,  as  if  in  an 
earthquake. 

"  Oh,  Pheel !  "  cried  the  Italian  girl,  cowering. 
"  Oh,  Mater  Dolorosa!  What  will  the  good  lady  do 
now  ?  Did  she  take  a  knife  with  her  ?  " 

"  No,  you  goose !  "  bantered  Phil.  "  Ma  Comfort 
don't  have  to  go  round  sticking  knives  into  people, 
like  Dagoes.  She  don't  need  any  knife.  She'll 
just  talk/' 

This  statement  proved  to  be  absolutely  true.  Ma 
had  taken  no  weapon  but  speech,  and  had  required 
no  other.  What  went  on  that  midsummer  morning 
in  the  shade  of  the  Hopkins'  verandah  was  never  en- 
tirely to  be  known. 

That  Mrs.  Giddings  emerged  as  a  victor  was  cer- 
tain ;  and  equally  sure, —  as  might  have  been  proved 
by  more  than  one  grinning  servant, —  the  furious 
and  chastened  Mrs.  Hopkins,  rushing  up  to  her  bed- 
chamber, had  locked  herself  in,  refusing  admission 
even  to  the  trained  nurse,  Miss  McCracken. 

In  an  incredibly  short  time  Ma  was  on  her  way 
home.  Now  she  moved  less  like  a  camel  than  a 
brigadier  general  at  the  head  of  invisible  armies.  A 
sort  of  rosy  mist,  as  of  triumph,  seemed  to  move  with 
her.  The  brown  eyes  were  hard,  bright,  and  keen. 

"  Cheat  that  child !  Refuse  her  the  money  she 
got  up  at  daybreak  to  work  for,"  snorted  Ma.  "  Well, 
not  much!  Not  so  long's  Comfort  Giddin's'  got  a 
tongue  in  her  head  and  the  power  of  usin'  it.  And 
with  this  letter  too,"  she  went  on,  as  if  to  the  air, 
waving  Sister  Agatha  Mary's  rejected  epistle  like  a 


216         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

banner.  "  No  plainer  business  contract  ever  was 
wrote  than  this  letter.  That  drawlin'  huzzy,  Mis' 
Hopkins,  she  knew  that  I  meant  it  when  I  said  me 
and  John  would  have  the  law  on  her  for  Nuncy- 
yawter.  That  skeered  her,  but  it  ain't  that  what 
turned  the  trick!  No,"  Ma  exulted,  a  sly  smile 
softening  her  lips.  "  It  was  when  I  purtended  to  be 
turnin'  away,  and  said,  casual-like,  '  Very  well,  Mrs. 
J.  Huntin'ton  Hopkins,  they  is  plenty  of  other  big 
houses  round.  All  them  ladies  wants  lace  like  this 
kind,  for  I've  seen  it  in  their  curtains  and  table- 
cloths. I'll  peddle  Hope  Bay  Shore  end  to  end,  till 
I  sells  it,'  I  sez  to  Mis'  Hopkins.  l  I'll  peddle  jest 
like  your  man's  gran'pa  onst  peddled.'  All  I  needed 
was  pintin',"  chuckled  Ma,  "  and  down  she  fell  flat, 
like  Dave  Crockett's  coon! 

"  Lord !  what  cowards  them  rich  people  is,"  moral- 
ized the  good  woman,  her  anger  beginning  to  wane. 
"  Allays  pushin'  and  climbin'  to  git  somewhar  they 
ain't  wanted, —  never  satisfied  with  what  they  is  got, 
—  and  so  turrible  skeered  that  the  ones  higher  up 
will  find  out  whar  they  comes  from.  Lord,  Lord," 
she  said  fervently,  and  unwittingly  mopped  her  damp 
brow  on  a  handful  of  greenbacks,  "  I  wouldn't  swap 
old  John  Giddin's  and  our  wee  green  an'  white  nest 
of  a  home  for  all  of  this  glitterin'  pile  of  new 
1  Towers '  an'  l  Castles '  heaped  up  high  as  the 
moon." 

The  two  girls,  hearing  Ma  coming,  ran  out  to  the 
door.  She  waved  them  back,  panting.  "  There, 
there,  don't  climb  up.  I'm  comin'  as  fast  as  I  can. 


"  KIND  MRS.  HOPKINS  "       217 

My  head  is  that  hot  you  could  fry  an  egg  in  the 
partin'." 

On  reaching  the  cabin,  Mrs.  Giddings'  first  words 
were,  "  Now,  now,  Nuncy-yawter,  you  shirked 
drinkin'  that  good  milk,  and  eatin'  Ma's  doughnuts, 
like  I  told  you." 

"  I  couldn't  make  out  to  swallow,  dear  Mis'  Com- 
fort," defended  the  Italian.  "But  I'll  try  now  if 
you  want  me,"  she  added,  with  a  smile  that  was  like 
clear  moonlight  over  the  rim  of  a  driving  black 
cloud. 

"  Jest  a  minute,"  Ma  cried,  laughing.  "  When 
you  see  what  I've  brought  you,  they  won't  be  no  need 
for  coaxin'.  Set  there  by  the  table,  so's  I  can  lay 
the  lot  down  to  it.  Five  —  ten  —  fifteen,"  exulted 
the  conqueror,  and  with  each  word  she  slapped 
fiercely  down  another  bill.  "  Twenty  —  twenty-five, 
ten  more,  and  a  lonesome,  young  one-dollar  bill,  what 
makes  thirty-six  dollars  in  all !  " 

Annunciata's  eyelids  drooped,  and  for  a  moment 
it  appeared  as  though  she  were  going  to  faint.  Ma 
hurried  around  the  table  and  drew  the  girl  close  to 
her  breast,  for  support. 

"Oh,  Madonna  Mia!  dear  Blessed  Virgin!  Did 
I  dream  it  ?  "  Annunciata  whispered. 

"  Well  it's  yourn,  every  penny,  and  you  is  goin* 
to  spend  it  exactly  as  the  notion  takes  you  to  spend 
it.  Git  more  milk,  a  whole  pitcherful,  dearie,"  this 
to  Phil.  "  And  the  doughnuts  ?  Yes,  all  you  can 
spy.  This  is  an  American  festa  to  celebrate  Nuncy- 
yawter's  vic'try.  We'll  drink  milk  till  we  all  wants 


218          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

to  moo,  and  eat  crullers  till, —  why,  here's  Laddie- 
dog,  jest  in  time !  Yes,  good  doggy,  don't  tear  down 
the  ceilin' ;  you'll  git  yours  right  enough." 

"  But  Pa, —  where's  my  Pa  Comfort  ?  "  now  cried 
Phil,  as  she  walked  in,  carefully  bearing  the  brim- 
ming pitcher.  "  If  Laddie's  here,  that  means  Uncle 
John's  in  the  oyster  house." 

She  ran  out  to  the  front-deck  "  piazza,"  her  eyes 
roving  the  pier.  "  Oh,  Pa  Giddings  —  Uncle 
John,"  she  called  clearly.  "  We  are  having  a  festa, 
and  we  can't  go  on  without  you.  Please  come  in." 

Ma  followed  as  far  as  the  doorway,  and  stood 
there,  her  face  flushed  and  twitching. 

"  And  to  think  it  was  me,  after  all  of  my  thanks- 
givin'  for  John  jest  a  minute  ago,  what  had  to  be 
reminded  by  a  child  that  he  hadn't  been  bid  to  our 
party !  " 

"  John,  John  Giddin's !  "  she  cried,  lifting  her 
voice  far  above  that  of  Phil.  "  You  come  right  in 
here.  We's  startin'  a  picnic." 

Pa  emerged  from  the  oyster  house,  smiling  and 
wiping  his  hands  on  his  overalls. 

Ma's  answering  smile  seemed  to  run  out  to  meet 
him.  "  The  Lord  bless  his  bones,"  she  whispered 
under  her  breath.  "  Does  I  love  that  old  man  in 
blue  jeans, —  does  I  ?  Well,"  ended  Ma  in  a  great 
sigh  of  contentment,  "  if  I  don't,  I  deserve  to  be 
classed  for  poorness  of  sperrit  with  old  Rebecca  and 
Mis'  Hopkins." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

PHIL'S    PUNISHMENT    BEGINS 

ONLY  two  more  days  to  the  festa!  Safe  in 
the  upper  division  of  the  Bertollotti  cup- 
board, well  out  of  reach  of  fat  Hugo  and  Rosa  Maria, 
were  the  oil  and  the  eggs,  and  other  delectable  viands. 
A  letter  from  Cris  had  given  the  joyful  assurance 
that  he  would  be  with  them  all  day  long.  In  that 
letter  was  something  else,  too,  another  great  secret 
so  wonderful,  so  ecstatic,  that  Annunciata's  eyes  had 
brimmed  over  as  she  whispered  it  to  Phil. 

In  a  very  short  time  the  sick  father  could  be 
moved.  Annunciata,  being  rich  now,  was  to  hire  a 
motor,  with  Cris,  of  course,  making  all  of  the  ar- 
rangements, and  bring  Padre  back  to  his  home. 
Even  Mrs.  Bertollotti  was  not  to  be  told.  It  was 
being  saved  as  a  glorious  surprise. 

The  one  disappointment,  the  one  cloud  on  their 
bright  outlook,  was  that  the  "  surprise  "  could  not 
come  on  Cristofo's  birthday.  But  this  the  hospital 
doctor  had  forbidden.  For  a  full  week  after  the 
moving,  he  had  said,  "  Mr.  Bertollotti  must  be  kept 
very  quiet.  He  had  had  a  long  and  very  serious 
illness,  and  too  much  excitement  all  at  once  might 
have  unfortunate  consequences." 


220          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

In  spite  of  this  shadow,  the  small  house  in  Bible 
Road  was,  on  that  radiant  July  morning,  a  center  of 
happy  expectancy. 

At  the  Merrill's  next  door,  a  very  different  at- 
mosphere prevailed.  Edgar,  at  breakfast,  had  de- 
clared that  he  felt  "  awful  sick."  The  word  "  sick- 
ness "  in  connection  with  her  idolized  boy  was  more 
than  enough  to  throw  Mrs.  Merrill  into  a  state  of 
nervous  anxiety. 

Phil's  one  thought  as  usual, —  and  to-day  a  good 
deal  more  than  usual, —  was  to  scramble  through  her 
small  tasks,  and  get  away  from  it  all  as  soon  as 
possible. 

She  found  Mrs.  Merrill  in  the  kitchen,  preparing 
some  arrow-root,  sugar,  and  cinnamon,  in  the  hope 
of  tempting  Edgar  to  eat. 

Phil's  request  was  worded  carefully  and  in  her 
very  best  manner,  but  the  stepmother,  impatiently 
waiting  until  it  was  through,  said,  "  No,  my  dear, 
not  this  morning.  I  am  sorry,  but  for  the  present, 
your  visits  to  old  Mrs.  Giddings  must  cease." 

The  child  sprang  closer,  and  looked  fixedly  up 
into  the  other's  worried  face.  "  What !  Stop  going 
any  time  to  Ma  Comfort's !  Stop  seeing  my  Laddie 
at  all  ?  Oh,  Mother,  you  can't  mean  it !  " 

Mrs.  Merrill  pushed  the  aluminum  double  boiler 
to  the  back  of  the  range,  and  turning,  faced  her  step- 
daughter squarely. 

"  Take  that  chair,  Philomel,"  she  said,  pointing. 
"  And  I'll  draw  up  the  other.  I'm  glad  enough  to 
sit  for  a  moment.  Now  I  want  to  speak  to  you  sens- 


PHIL'S  PUNISHMENT  BEGINS     221 

ibly,  like  the  big  girl  you're  growing  to  be, —  and  I 
expect  you  to  listen  and  to  pay  attention  to  what  I 
am  saying.  May  I  count  on  your  doing  so  ?  " 

Phil,  mumbling  something  rebellious,  threw  her- 
self at  a  slant  across  the  hard  kitchen  chair. 

Mrs.  Merrill's  lips  tightened,  but  she  thought  it 
best  to  ignore  these  small  signs  of  revolt.  "  You 
have  heard  me  speak  lately,"  she  began,  "  of  a  fright- 
ful disease, —  a  child's  disease  that  is  raging  in  all 
the  big  cities  ?  " 

"Yes'm, —  yes,  Mother,"  said  Phil  rather  proud 
of  airing  her  knowledge.  "  It's  Lassertood." 

Mrs.  Merrill  smiled  sadly.  "  I  only  wish  that  it 
were.  No,  this  is  called  Infantile  Paralysis.  Chil- 
dren by  hundreds  are  dying  each  day  with  it.  And 
—  and  death  is  not  always  the  worst,"  the  speaker 
went  on,  her  face  drained  now  of  its  last  fleck  of 
color.  "  It's  so  dreadful  I  can't  think  of  the  thing 
without  shuddering.  Even  when  children  get  well, 
they  are  often  left  crippled  and  helpless  and  idiots. 
Where's  Edgar,  Rebecca,"  she  called  sharply,  as  the 
old  woman  entered  with  a  large  tray  of  breakfast 
dishes,  most  of  them  untouched. 

"  He's  jest  gone  upstairs  for  his  jacks,"  said  Re- 
becca, wiping  off  the  kitchen  table. 

Mrs.  Merrill  leaned  back  with  a  sigh.  "  I  am 
wretched  the  minute  that  child's  from  my  sight." 

"  But,  Mother,"  said  Phil,  "  I  don't  see  what  an 
infant  paralyzing  in  the  cities  has  got  to  do  with 
Ma  Comfort  and  Laddie." 

"  Just  this  much,"  explained  the  stepmother.     "  It 


222          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

is  known  to  be  infectious;  that  means  that  people 
can  carry  the  germs  about  with  them.  No  one 
knows  yet  just  how,  only  that  they  are  carried.  A 
lot  of  unclean  Italians,  like  those  creatures  next 
door,  are  always  the  first  to  start  it." 

"  I  don't  see  how !  "  muttered  Phil  angrily. 

"Well,  I  do,"  returned  Mrs.  Merrill.  "They 
have  a  boy,  I  am  told,  who  comes  every  Saturday 
from  the  city,  and  Mrs.  Giddings  has  been  seen  more 
than  once  going  in  and  out  of  the  hovel.  It  is  be- 
cause of  those  visits  of  hers  that  I  am  forbidding 
you  to  go  near  her.  I  can't  run  any  risks, —  not 
with  Edgar, —  with  either  of  you  children  in  my 
care." 

Phil's  golden  head  went  down  to  the  table.  "  I 
can't  go  to  Ma  Comfort.  I  can't  see  my  Laddie.  I 
can't  go  anywhere !  "  she  said,  as  if  to  herself.  In 
her  voice  was  such  desolate  misery  that  Mrs.  Mer- 
rill was  softened. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  the  stepmother  once  more. 
"  But  I  consider  it  a  necessary  precaution.  It  may 
be  only  for  a  short  time,  and  at  home  you  have  your 
little  brother  to  play  with,  not  to  mention  the  or- 
chard." 

At  the  magic  word  "  orchard,"  Phil's  head  lifted, 
and  her  face  cleared.  True  enough,  she  still  had 
the  orchard,  and,  blessed  fact,  it  was  one  of  the 
many  places  where  Edgar  had  been  forbidden  to 
follow.  At  the  edge  of  it  lay  St.  Cristofo's  Ferry, 
and  once  over  that  — ! 

"  All  right,  Mother,"  she  cried,  "  I  won't  beg  any 


PHIL'S  PUNISHMENT  BEGINS     223 

more  for  the  beach,  and  I'll  try  not  to  be  sulky. 
When  I  make  up  my  bed,  can  I  go  to  the  orchard  for 
as  long  as  I  want  to  ?  " 

"  Why,  surely  you  may,"  smiled  Mrs.  Merrill. 
"  And  I'm  proud  of  my  little  daughter.  Here,  stop, 
give  mother  a  kiss." 

Phil  leaned  down  very  unwillingly,  and  after  the 
peck  on  her  cheek,  she  darted  upstairs.  The  kiss 
seemed  to  burn  her,  and  she  rubbed  at  it  viciously. 
Her  heart  felt  like  a  pincushion  of  old  rusty  lies, 
and  each  one  of  them  was  festering. 

"  I  must  help  the  Bertollottis  make  cake,"  she 
said  angrily,  though  under  her  breath.  "  Anyhow, 
it's  only  my  stepmother ;  she's  not  real  like  the  Madre. 
And  she  hasn't  got  any  business  trying  to  keep  me 
away  from  all  of  my  friends.  Annunciata  expects 
me  to  help  her  with  that  festa." 

She  was  talking  against  her  own  conscience,  and 
she  knew  it.  She  felt  hot  and  cold  and  bitter  and 
triumphant  all  at  the  same  time.  Still  muttering 
her  arguments,  she  threw  open  her  door.  There  was 
a  queer  feeling  in  the  room  that  told  her  something 
was  wrong.  Her  eyes  flew  to  her  picture,  the  bright 
colored  handkerchief  box,  from  which  smiled  a  face 
so  like  to  that  of  the  lovely  Annunciata. 

There  was  indeed  something  terribly  wrong.  For 
a  moment  Phil  stood  like  a  stone,  her  horrified  gaze 
fixed  upon  the  wreck.  Then  with  a  cry  she  ran  to 
the  dresser. 

Both  eyes  of  the  picture  had  been  thrust  through 
with  a  blunt  pencil.  Over  the  sweet,  curving  lips, 


224          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

grew  a  pair  of  black,  bristling  moustachios.  A  beard 
had  been  started,  but  the  artist  had  evidently 
wearied,  and  left  one  side  of  the  chin  unhurt.  Just 
beneath  the  picture  was  written  in  childish,  block 
letters : 

"  Old  Phil  Merrill,  she's  a  Wop, 
When  she  sees  this,  she  will  pop." 

Phil  broke  into  furious  tears.  Catching  up  her 
spoiled  treasure,  she  bolted  down  the  two  flights  of 
stairs  to  the  dining  room.  "  Oh,  Mother  —  oh, 
Mother !  "  she  sobbed,  holding  it  forward,  "  see  what 
Edgar  has  done  to  my  picture !  " 

Mrs.  Merrill  looked  up  from  her  sewing.  Un- 
fortunately, at  sight  of  the  ludicrous  object,  her  lips 
twitched.  The  smile  was  a  goad  to  Phil's  frenzy. 
At  the  same  instant,  she  saw  crouching  down,  behind 
the  cover  of  his  mother's  chair,  the  jeering,  out- 
thrust  face  of  her  stepbrother. 

Phil  tried  to  throw  herself  upon  him.  "  I'll  kill 
you !  "  she  stormed.  "  I'll  punch  both  your  eyes 
out !  just  let  me  get  at  you  — " 

Mrs.  Merrill  sprang  up,  clasping  her  arms  around 
the  furious  girl.  "  Stop,  you  crazy  child !  Have 
you  lost  all  your  senses !  Edgar,  run  —  run  for 
your  life!  Rebecca,"  the  stepmother  screamed, 
"  come  get  Edgar  and  take  him  to  the  kitchen  with 
you.  This  creature  is  possessed.  She  fights  like  a 
wildcat !  " 

"  Just  let  me  get  my  hands  on  him !  "  raved  Phil. 
She  wrenched  herself  violently  free,  and  flew  toward 


PHIL'S  PUNISHMENT  BEGINS     225 

the  pantry.  The  key  had  been  deftly  turned,  and 
Edgar  was  safe  on  the  other  side  of  the  panel. 

Phil  now  ran  around  to  the  front.  "  Lock  both 
kitchen  doors,  Kebecca,"  she  heard  her  stepmother 
cry,  as  if  in  a  panic  of  fear.  "  She  will  probably 
come  back  this  way  again.  What  temper!  What 
terrible  fury!  I  am  shaking  like  a  leaf  after  it. 
The  child  looks  like  a  demon, —  Roger's  child !  " 

The  gingham-clad  demon,  still  sobbing  aloud, 
turned  her  back  on  the  house,  and  went  at  a  spurt 
through  the  orchard.  There  was  no  stopping  her 
now,  and  over  she  went,  across  the  ferry,  and  along 
the  flat  paths  of  gay  flowers  that  were  bordering  veg- 
etables. Three  of  the  children,  Tonio,  Jo  and  Lucia, 
were  on  their  knees  weeding  cabbages.  With  a  single 
cry  of  amazement,  they  rose  and  followed  Phil  into 
the  house. 

She  reached  the  back  room.  It  was  empty.  At 
the  door  of  the  "  parlor  "  she  stopped  short,  for  what 
she  saw  there  had  checked  her  as  suddenly  as  though 
she  had  come  against  a  door  of  clear  glass. 

On  the  floor  by  the  opened  lower  cupboard  sat 
Rosa  Maria.  Far  and  wide  were  scattered  white  egg 
shells.  Crowing,  giggling  with  rapture,  Rosa  Maria 
broke  a  fresh  one  on  the  top  of  her  dark,  curly  head, 
and  laughed  out  as  the  yellow  yolk  slid  down  over 
one  eye  to  her  cheek. 

Mrs.  Bertollotti  and  Annunciata,  just  within  the 
door,  stood  speechless,  the  four  hands  upraised,  as 
they  witnessed  this  wreck  of  their  festa. 

The  precious  tin  of  fine  oil,  overturned,  was  glid- 


226          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

ing  out  across  the  floor  in  yellow-green  serpents. 
The  baby's  teeth  gleamed.  Through  the  streaks  of 
the  eggs,  Eosa  Maria  showed  her  dimples. 

"  Google-goo,"  the  infant  remarked,  as  she  cracked 
the  egg  on  her  forelock. 

Philomel  wrenched  her  fascinated  gaze  away,  in 
order  to  stare  wonderingly  at  the  others, —  at  the 
Madre  and  the  Big  Sister,  whose  long  work  for  Cris- 
tofo's  birthday  lay  in  ruins. 

What  on  earth  were  they  to  do  with  Eosa  Maria  ? 
Would  they  beat  her,  as  she,  Phil,  would  have  en- 
joyed beating  Edgar  ? 

Annunciata,  recovering  her  power  of  motion, 
started  forward.  Phil  gasped.  J^o  matter  what 
Eosa  Maria  deserved,  Phil  was  ready  to  do  battle 
for  her. 

"  Oh,  don't  spank  her  hard!  'Nunciata,"  she 
pleaded. 

"  Spank  her !  "  repeated  the  sister  in  surprise. 
"  Of  course,  nobody's  going  to  spank  her, —  the 
blessed,  sweet  angel!  Did  you  ever  see  anything 
cuter?  It  was  all  my  fault  for  taking  the  things 
down  too  soon,  and  leaving  them,  even  for  a  minute." 

Tonio,  Jo,  and  Lucia  crowded  in.  They  too  began 
laughing. 

"  Gee !  "  cried  Tonio.  "  Eosa  Maria's  a  chunk  of 
honey,  all  right!  Ain't  she,  Madre?  Jes'  catch 
onto  dat  grin  thru'  de  om'lett !  " 

In  response,  Eosa  Maria  coyly  tossed  him  an  egg. 

Annunciata  stooped  now,  and  lifted  the  adorable, 
small  sinner.  Long  strings  of  egg  and  of  oil  came 


PHIL'S  PUNISHMENT  BEGINS     227 

up  with  her,  dangling  down  like  the  tentacles  of  a 
huge  jellyfish,  while  roars  of  Italian  merriment 
greeted  the  sight. 

Phil,  too,  began  to  laugh,  but  her  amusement 
proved  brief. 

Her  mouth  closed.  "  Oh,  what's  that  ?  "  she  de- 
manded, bending  and  listening.  "  It's  Rebecca ! 
Rebecca's  been  sent  after  me.  Oh,  children,  don't 
let  her  catch  me  here.  Where  can  I  hide  2  " 

"  Nix  on  de  hidin',"  growled  Tonio.  "  She  won't 
follow  you  in  here  —  de  old  Madame  Cat." 

"  But  she  might.  I  must  hide!  "  said  the  terrified 
Phil.  "  Oh,  'Nunciata,  you  must  help  me." 

The  Italian  girl  lifted  the  hand  Philomel  had 
placed  on  her  arm,  and  put  it  aside.  The  motion 
was  gentle,  but  a  look  Phil  never  had  seen  now 
clouded  her  lovely  eyes. 

"  You  might  go  to  the  cave,  until  Rebecca  has 
passed,"  she  said  quietly.  "  I  didn't  know,  Pheel, 
you'd  been  told  not  to  come  here,  all  this  time — " 

Again  came  Rebecca's  harsh  voice,  "  Phil'mel,  you 
Phil  Merrill.  Where're  you  hidin'  ?  Your  Maw 
says  to  come  here  this  minute." 

"Yes,  I'll  go  to  the  cave,"  panted  Phil,  darting 
into  the  kitchen.  "  When  she's  gone,  I  can  crawl 
through  the  orchard  without  anybody  seeing  me." 

With  back  bent,  crouching  down  in  the  rows  of 
green  vegetables,  knowing  herself  to  be  not  only  a 
liar  but  a  coward,  Phil  slipped  out  stealthily  toward 
the  cave. 

She  had  nearly  reached  it,  when  from  the  air  as  it 


228          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

seemed,  directly  over  her  head,  a  clear  voice  of  tri- 
umph was  heard.  "  I've  caught  you  this  time !  I 
saw  you  come  out  of  the  beggars'  house,  Phil  Mer- 
rill. I  thought  you  never  went  there  ?  " 

Phil  threw  her  head  back.  Neither  pride  nor  de- 
fiance was  left  to  her.  "  I  don't ;  that  is,  I'm  for- 
bidden to  go,  but  I  do.  Oh,  Constantia,"  she 
pleaded,  "  don't  tell  on  me,  please." 

"  If  I  promise  I  won't,"  bartered  Constantia, 
"  will  you  come  over  to  my  house  and  play  as  long 
as  I  want  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  grovelled  Phil.  "  I  want  to  come  to 
see  you.  I'll  ask  my  stepmother  to  let  me,  the  min- 
ute I  get  home." 

"  What  you  doing  now,  acting  so  funny  ? "  de- 
manded the  tyrant. 

"  I'm  hiding  from  Rebecca ;  she's  after  me.  I 
must  go  into  the  cave." 

"  It's  a  lot  nicer  up  on  this  bank,"  suggested  the 
other.  "  The  water  from  our  pond  is  just  rushing 
down  over  the  dam.  I've  a  great  mind  to  try  to  pull 
one  of  the  sticks  out,  to  see  if  it  won't  run  faster." 

"  Don't  you  do-  it !  "  shrieked  Phil.  "  Not  while 
I'm  here  in  the  cave.  You  wait  till  I  get  out." 

She  cowered  within.  The  place  was  all  dim,  red, 
and  wet.  One  side  of  it  leaked  with  a  slow,  steady 
dripping.  On  the  bank,  just  a  few  feet  away,  she 
could  hear  the  escape  from  the  pond  overhead  rush 
and  gurgle.  She  thought  of  Undine  and  Kuhleborn. 
Surely,  in  the  sound  of  this  water  was  the  laughter 
of  something  malignant. 


PHIL'S  PUNISHMENT  BEGINS     229 

From  far  down  the  road,  Rebecca  was  still  calling, 
"  Phil  Merrill,  you  Phil'mel.  Your  Maw  wants 
you.  T'ain't  no  use  your  hidin'  like  that.  You 
come  on  to  your  house,  or  you'll  catch  it !  " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

THE  DAItKEST  HOUR 

PHIL  remained  in  the  dank,  soggy  cave  until  all 
external  sounds  had  quite  faded,  then  creeping 
out,  she  looked  first  up  to  the  bank,  and  afterward 
into  the  Bertollotti  garden. 

Constantia  was  gone,  but  on  their  knees  by  the 
cabbage  bed  again  knelt  the  three  black-headed  chil- 
dren, just  as  if  Phil's  last  dreadful  ten  minutes  had 
never  occurred. 

Not  daring  to  call  out,  or  to  give  a  sign  of  her 
presence,  the  unhappy  child  made  her  way  through 
the  marsh,  and  finally  into  the  orchard. 

Mrs.  Merrill  was  standing  on  the  front  piazza, 
evidently  watching,  for,  with  her  eyes  shaded  by 
one  hand,  she  stared  down  Bible  Eoad.  Rebecca 
approached,  and  as  the  two  women  exchanged 
glances,  the  old  servant  shook  her  bare  head,  in  order 
to  show  that  her  quest  had  been  useless. 

Phil,  cowering  close  to  the  house  wall,  shut  both 
eyes  tight  and  clenched  her  fists  fiercely  in  an  effort 
to  arouse  her  much  needed  courage. 

A  sudden  cry  from  the  keen-sighted  Rebecca  told 
with  dreadful  certainty  that  Phil,  in  her  hiding  place, 
was  discovered.  The  culprit,  realizing  the  futility 
of  further  concealment,  stepped  out  and  around  to 


THE  DARKEST  HOUR         231 

the  front  with  all  of  the  bravery  and  defiance  she 
could  muster. 

"  Come  here  to  me,  Philomel,"  said  the  step- 
mother quietly.  "  You  are  to  go  at  once  to  your 
room  and  remain  there  until  I  give  you  permission  to 
leave  it.  Such  a  dreadful  display  of  anger,  not  to 
mention  your  attempts  to  hurt  Edgar,  can  not  go  un- 
punished." 

"The  festal19  thought  Phil  instantly,  and  her 
heart  seemed  to  turn  over  and  stop.  "  If  she  keeps 
me  locked  up  there  all  day,  I  can't  help  'Nunciata 
get  ready  for  Cristofo's  birthday  party.  And  if  I 
don't  go  after  promising,  some  of  them  might  even 
come  here  to  my  house,  and  ask  what  was  the  reason."1 
Clearly  this  was  an  emergency  in  which  any  weapon 
at  hand  must  be  used. 

"But,  but,  Mother!"  Phil  stammered.  "I'm 
sorry  I  was  so  naughty.  I'll  beg  Edgar's  pardon  — 
I'll  do  anything!  Don't  shut  me  up  now!  I've 
been  talking  to  Constantia  Hopkins.  She's  the 
sweetest  little  girl  you  ever  saw.  I  told  her  I'd 
come  to  her  house  right  away,  as  soon  as  I'd  asked 
you.  Her  mother  just  begged  me.  She  said  to  ask 
you  might  I  come." 

The  stepmother  hesitated,  at  which  Phil's  sick 
heart  gave  a  bound.  Mrs.  Merrill  had  long  wished 
to  "  get  in  "  with  the  exclusive  Hopkins  set,  but  now 
her  sense  of  right  proved  stronger  than  this  latent 
snobbery. 

"  No,  Philomel,  you  cannot  go  now.  Perhaps 
later  on  when  you  are  really  repentant." 


232          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  But  I'm  really  repentant  this  minute !  "  insisted 
Phil  with  passionate  fervor.  "  I'm  nearly  dead  with 
repentance.  I  won't  ever  — " 

"  You  heard  what  I  said,"  repeated  the  stepmother 
sharply.  "  March  straight  up  to  your  room." 

The  child,  literally  shivering  with  disappointment 
and  fury,  stumbled  indoors. 

Mrs.  Merrill  watched  her  intently,  then  with  a 
few  hurried  strides  caught  up  with  the  wavering 
figure,  and  clasped  Phil's  arm  securely. 

"  On  second  thought,  I'll  go  up  with  you,  and  see 
that  you  are  safely  locked  in.  Perhaps  I'd  better 
not  trust  you  in  the  house  by  yourself,  as  I  don't 
know  where  your  brother  may  be." 

As  the  dual  ascent  began,  the  big  house  seemed 
curiously  silent. 

Then,  from  overhead  on  the  second  flight  up,  there 
came  sounds  of  a  strange  sort  of  thumping.  It  was 
like  an  object  being  dragged  step  by  step,  down  the 
stairs.  Thump  —  thump  followed  thump.  Then 
Edgar's  thin  voice  was  heard,  saying  gaily,  "  Get  up, 
dog,  get  up  quick.  I'll  beat  you  hard  with  my  whip, 
if  you  don't  come  along  faster.  Get  up,  Lad- 
die!" 

"  It's  my  dog !  Edgar's  found  him.  It's  my  Lad- 
die !  "  shrieked  Phil.  "  You  let  my  dog  alone,  Ed- 
gar Merrill !  " 

Edgar's  answering  laugh  rose  the  higher.  "  Get 
up,  you  old  dog.  Get  up,  you  old  statue,"  he  re- 
peated. 

A  crash  echoed  through  the  house,  and  great  pieces 


THE  DARKEST  HOUR         233 

of  plaster,  hurling  down  to  the  hallway,  lay  in  heaps, 
while  a  whitish-pink  dust  filled  the  air. 

With  the  cry  of  a  creature  demented,  Phil  fought 
herself  free,  and  sprang  upward. 

Edgar  stood  peering  down  over  the  banisters. 
From  his  hand  still  dangled  the  string  by  which  he 
had  been  hauling  the  statue. 

At  the  sight  of  his  sister's  ashen  face  and  wild  eyes, 
he  cringed  back  to  the  wall,  crying,  "  Mommer,  oh 
Mommer !  " 

"  I'll  show  you !  "  gasped  Phil,  quite  delirious 
with  anger.  "  I'll  teach  you  to  go  to  my  room,  root- 
ing through  all  my  things,  stealing  them.  I'll  kill 
you  this  time,  before  your  mother  can  stop  me. 
Take  that ! " 

At  the  first  frantic  blow,  Edgar  stopped  screaming. 
He  went  sidewise,  and  began  to  fall, —  thump  after 
thump, —  as  the  image  had  done. 

On  the  landing  he  lay  very  still.  Phil  saw  his 
mother  bend  over  him,  then  she,  too,  crumpled  up  and 
lay  motionless. 

Phil  waited  no  longer.  She  sped  up  to  her  room, 
and  having  presence  of  mind  enough  left  to  remember 
the  key,  took  it  with  trembling  hands  from  the  out- 
side of  the  door,  and  turned  it  inside. 

For  a  long  while  she  lay  crouched  and  shivering 
close  to  the  doorsill,  but  no  footsteps  mounted  the 
stairs.  Later,  about  supper  time,  Rebecca  rapped 
sharply,  saying  she  had  brought  up  some  milk  and 
bread,  but  the  child  did  not  dare  turn  the  protective 
key. 


234          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

On  the  next  morning,  the  actual  feast  day  of  St. 
Cristofo,  Phil  awoke,  faint  and  dizzy  from  hunger. 
She  waited  until  she  heard  Eebecca  go  down  both 
flights  of  steps,  and  then,  cautiously  unlocking  the 
door,  looked  about  for  the  tray.  It  was  still  there. 
The  milk  had  soured  into  clabber,  but  Phil  ate  it, 
and  munched  her  dry  bread. 

The  light,  giddy  feeling  in  her  head  began  to  pass. 
She  went  over  to  the  window,  and  had  the  added 
wretchedness  of  seeing  tall  Cris  arrive. 

For  an  instant,  she  wondered  what  had  been  done 
to  replace  the  fine  oil  and  the  eggs  Eosa  Maria  had 
wasted;  then  she  thought  of  the  Giddings'  fat  hens, 
and  of  Ma's  murmured  speech,  "  I'm  sort  of  sorry 
you  ordered  so  previous." 

There  were  two  of  the  funny  flat  oil-tins  in  the 
house  boat,  or,  at  least  there  had  been.  Phil  knew 
well  enough  where  they  were  now.  Ma  and  Pa  Gid- 
dings were  both  to  go  to  the  festa.  What  laughter 
would  ripple,  what  jokes  would  be  told;  how  all  the 
faces  would  shine  and  look  happy,  while  she, 
wretched  prisoner,  must  be  locked  in  alone ! 

By  noon  Phil  was  again  dreadfully  hungry.  As 
she  heard  Rebecca's  slow  feet  on  the  stairs,  the  child 
gave  a  sigh  of  utter  abandonment  and,  walking  up 
to  the  door,  turned  the  key. 

In  the  opening,  Rebecca  waved  her  tray  from  side 
to  side.  "  You  stay  where  you  are,"  she  commanded. 
"  You're  not  to  go  from  this  room  for  a  while  yet." 

"  I  don't  care.  I  don't  want  to  go,"  returned  Phil. 
"  But,  oh,  Rebecca,  please  tell  me, —  please  tell  me 


Phil  crouched  to  the  crack  of  the  door.    Page  235. 


THE  DARKEST  HOUR        285 

this, —  did  I  kill  Edgar  when  I  pushed  him  down- 
stairs ?  " 

At  first  it  would  seem  that  Kebecca  did  not  intend 
to  reply.  She  locked  the  door  carefully,  strode  over 
to  the  dresser,  and  setting  down  the  tray  with  a  bang, 
scowled  at  Phil's  small  colorless  face,  and  snapped 
out,  "  No,  he  ain't,  though  you  done  all  in  your 
power  to  kill  him.  He's  in  his  bed  yet,  and  the  doc- 
tor's here  with  him." 

She  swept  out,  banging  and  locking  the  door. 

But  Phil  did  not  care.  Her  hideous  nightmare  of 
murder  was  ended.  She  would  be  able  to  sleep 
through  the  night  without  those  dreadful  waking-up 
spells  of  sheer  horror. 

Next  morning,  brighter  eyes  were  raised  to  Ke- 
becca. The  eager  question  rang  out,  "  How  is  Ed- 
gar ?  Oh,  I  do  hope  he  is  better !  " 

No  answer  was  made.  Now  Phil  saw  that  the  old 
servant's  face,  always  hard,  seemed  chiselled  from 
granite.  Her  weak  eyes  were  half  closed,  and  had 
horrible  puffs  of  dark  pink  around  them. 

"  Is  he  worse  ?  Oh,  I  know  he's  lots  worse,"  cried 
the  child,  beginning  to  tremble. 

In  grim  silence,  Rebecca  set  the  pitcher  and  glass 
and  the  plate  of  bread  from  the  tray  upon  the  bureau, 
and  when  she  had  finished  went  out. 

Phil  crouched  to  the  crack  of  the  door.  The  still- 
ness and  the  solitude  were  becoming  unbearable.  At 
last  a  sound  was  heard,  the  escaping  of  steam  in  a 
motor-car,  that  had  stopped  in  the  road. 

That  meant  Doctor  Evans  again.     Edgar  must  be 


236          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

very  ill  to  have  the  doctor  so  often.  He  remained  for 
what  seemed  an  eternity  to  the  watcher  in  the  attic. 
Then  she  heard  him  cranking  his  engine. 

Phil  leaned  far  from  the  window.  She  was  pray- 
ing, under  her  breath,  that  he  would  go  Bible  Road, 
so  at  least  she  could  see  him. 

The  wish  was  soon  granted,  for  the  old  battered 
car  came  in  sight,  puffing  loudly.  It  was  headed 
straight  toward  the  sea,  toward  Ma  Giddings  and 
Laddie.  Phil's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  but  they  dried 
in  a  new  thrill  of  excitement  as  she  saw  Doctor  Evans 
stop  in  front  of  the  Bertollottis  and  go  in. 

What  did  it  mean  ?  Annunciata  had  told  her  that 
Italian  children  were  never  sick.  They  were  always 
too  busy  and  happy  for  illness.  The  father  had  not 
arrived  yet,  that  was  certain. 

Like  the  echo  of  cruel  laughter  in  the  pond's  out- 
let, came  the  words  "  Infantile  Paralysis."  Phil 
cowered  and  moaned.  "  Oh,  not  that !  My  little 
Rosa  Maria  can't  have  that !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Phil  to  herself,  as  a  brighter 
thought  touched  her,  "it's  only  that  some  of  the 
children  ate  too  much  festa.  Hugo  was  certain  to 
stuff."  This  view  of  the  situation  comforted  her 
greatly. 

The  day  dragged  along.  The  red  sun  was  low. 
His  crimson  beams  shot  past  the  Merrill  house,  strik- 
ing clear  on  the  flower-wreathed  chimney  of  the 
Italians. 

Again  Doctor  Evans'  car  stopped  at  Phil's  home. 
This  time  he  remained  but  a  very  few  minutes,  and 


THE  DARKEST  HOUR         237 

after  leaving,  turned  around  and  went  into  Kington, 
—  and  not  to  the  Bertollottis  at  all. 

Phil  felt  more  and  more  comforted.  She  could 
not  persuade  herself  that  there  was  anything  alarm- 
ing in  Edgar's  being  in  bed.  He  was  so  often  whin- 
ing and  complaining,  and  he  always  got  well. 

But  the  happy  Italians!  Those  brown,  dancing 
motes  in  the  sunshine!  To  imagine  them  sick  was 
as  difficult  as  to  think  of  the  stiff  old  Rebecca  in  a 
game  of  hopscotch.  Phil  felt  that  she  really  could 
not  bear  it  if  the  Bertollottis  had  "  started "  the 
dreadful  disease  of  which  her  stepmother  had  spoken. 

She  was  nervous  and  restless.  She  watched  the 
garden  next  door,  but  no  one  appeared.  Finally,  go- 
ing to  her  books,  and  selecting  as  a  suitable  one  the 
story  of  an  imprisoned  princess  in  a  tower,  Phil  was 
soon  deep  in  her  reading. 

A  sound  on  the  stairs  drew  her  attention.  There 
were  steps  coming  up, —  not  Rebecca's ;  they  were  too 
dragging  and  feeble  for  that.  Besides,  it  was  not 
near  time  for  her  bread  and  milk  supper.  Who 
could  it  possibly  be? 

Phil  sprang  up,  and  her  book  fell  to  the  floor. 
The  key  was  fitted  into  the  lock.  The  person  who 
turned  it  must  be  old  or  feeble,  for  the  key  trembled 
so  nervously.  The  girl  ran  to  the  knob,  shaking  it. 
The  door  flew  apart,  and  Mrs.  Merrill  came  in. 

At  the  first  sight  of  her  stepmother's  face,  Phil 
drew  back.  "  Oh,  Mother  —  oh,  Mother !  "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  What  is  it  ?  What  has  happened  2  Is 
Edgar—" 


238          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Don't  —  don't !  "  cried  the  stepmother.  "  Wait. 
Don't  speak.  I  will  tell  you  — " 

She  swerved  across  the  small  room  to  a  chair,  and, 
sat  down  heavily.     Her  skin  was  the  color  of  old 
wax.     Her  glittering  eyes  were  sunken  deep  in  great 
cups  of  blue-black  shadow.     Phil,  staring  and  shiv- 
ering, stood  in  front  of  her. 

"  I  must  ask  you,  I  must  be  certain/'  began  Mrs. 
Merrill,  her  words  sounding  strange  and  unnatural, 
as  they  were  forced  through  the  rigid  lips.  "  How 
came  you  by  that  statue  of  your  dog?  Who  made 
it?" 

"  Cris,"  Philomel  answered  quickly.  "  He's  an 
artist.  I  asked  him  and  he  made  it." 

"  Is  he  one  of  the  beggars  next  door  ?  " 

Phil  lifted  her  head  to  retort,  but  the  look  in  her 
stepmother's  eyes  checked  defiance.  "  He  is  one  of 
the  Italians,"  she  replied.  "  The  biggest  one.  He 
works  in  the  city." 

"  How  has  it  happened  that  you  know  him  well 
enough  to  make  such  a  request, —  and  for  him  to  give 
you  the  statue  ?  " 

Phil  hung  her  head  in  shamed  silence. 

Mrs.  Merrill's  hard,  self-controlled  voice  hurried 
on.  "  Did  I  not  give  you  the  most  definite  orders 
never  to  play  with  those  children?  Never  to  put 
your  foot  near  them." 

"  Nome,  you  didn't,"  Phil  asserted  with  her  last 
feeble  spark  of  courage.  "  You  just  said  I  was  never 
to  put  my  foot  into  their  hovel." 

"  That  is  merely  a  contemptible  quibble,  and  you 


THE  DARKEST  HOUR         239 

know  it,"  said  the  mother.  "  But  granting  it  so, 
have  you  obeyed  me,  even  in  this  ?  " 

Again  Phil's  head  went  down.  She  hid  her  face 
in  a  bent  elbow,  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Tears  won't  help  now,"  said  the  stepmother 
drearily.  "  Yon  have  lied  and  deceived  me  for 
months,  and  your  punishment  is  a  heavy  one, —  but 
oh,  God !  "  she  broke  out  in  a  quiver  of  anguish, 
"  why  should  punishment  fall  on  me  and  mine  too  ?  " 

"  What  —  what  —  do  you  mean,  Mother  ?  What 
punishment  ?  "  The  frightened  child  demanded. 

Mrs.  Merrill  rose  and  went  toward  the  door. 
"  Simply  this, —  three  of  those  wretched  Italians  are 
sick ;  the  doctor  fears  it  is  infantile  paralysis.  And 
Edgar  —  your  brother  —  shows  the  same  symptoms. 
It  is  this  that  your  wickedness  has  done." 

She  slipped  through  the  door,  as  if  not  trusting 
herself  to  more  words.  The  key  turned  and  clicked. 

Phil  sprang  after  her,  crying  out,  "  Mother,  oh, 
Mother !  I'm  sorry.  Oh,  don't  lock  me  in.  I  can't 
bear  it!" 

But  the  door  was  shut  tight.  Phil  beat  on  the 
wood  with  her  fists.  "  Let  me  out !  Let  me  out !  " 
she  screamed  shrilly.  "  I  don't  b'leeve  what  you 
said.  You're  just  trying  to  scare  me.  I  don't 
b'leeve  Eosa  Maria  and  Hugo's  got  'fantile  paralysis. 
God  and  Jesus  and  the  Blessed  Virgin  wouldn't  let 
them.  I  don't  b'leeve  Edgar's  got  it.  He's  play- 
ing possum  just  to  scare  me.  Let  me  out !  Let  me 
out !  I  must  see !  " 

Eebecca  raced  frantically  up  the  stairs.     "You 


240          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

stop  that  dog-howlin'  this  minute,"  she  cried  fiercely, 
through  the  door.  "  Edgar's  yellin'  his  head  off. 
He'll  die  on  us  'fore  we  can  git  the  doctor  here,  if 
you  don't  hush." 

Phil  sank  to  the  floor.  She  made  no  appeal  to 
Rebecca,  knowing  it  useless.  She  sobbed  quietly 
now,  and  when  the  black  images  crowded  nearer,  she 
put  both  of  her  hands  tightly  to  her  lips,  to  keep 
back  the  cries  that  struggled  for  utterance.  Her 
tortured  mind,  beating  about  for  a  gleam  of  com- 
fort, caught  the  clue  of  the  Little  Lamb  song,  which 
in  a  dark  hour  before  had  escaped  her.  The  two 
"  saddest  verses  of  all "  came  to  her  now  with  won- 
derful clearness. 

"  Rest  for  the  Lamb  of  God 
Up  to  the  hill-top  green, 
Only  a  cross  of  shame 

Two  stark  crosses  between. 

All  in  the  April  evening, 

April  airs  were  abroad; 
I  saw  the  sheep  with  their  lambs, 

And  thought  on  the  Lamb  of  God." 

"  Oh,  dear  Lamb  of  God,"  the  beaten  child  whis- 
pered, "  help  me  now.  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry.  Let  me 
have  the  sickness  and  not  Edgar, —  not  my  brother, 
or  the  happy  people  next  door.  I  don't  care  what 
you  do  to  me,  Lamb  of  God,  only  keep  the  awful 
something  away  from  my  brother  and  the  Bertol- 
lottis." 

Night  came  slowly  in,  but  no  supper.     Phil  be- 


THE  DARKEST  HOUR         241 

lieved,  and  cared  not  at  all,  that  the  next  step  in 
her  punishment  was  to  be  complete  starvation. 

"  I  couldn't  eat  a  thing,  even  if  Rebecca  had 
brought  it,"  the  wretched  child  thought.  "  I  don't 
b'leeve,  right  this  minute,  that  I  could  eat  fig  pre- 
serves, or  even  watermelon." 

On  the  window  ledge  a  cricket  began  a  gay  chirp- 
ing. At  times  his  shrill  cry  seemed  at  her  very  ear ; 
then  again  it  faded  off  to  a  thin  echo.  Now  it  sank, 
miles  and  miles  away. 

Phil  never  thought  of  rising  from  the  floor  and 
getting  ready  for  bed,  in  the  ordinary  way.  These 
happy  usages  belonged  to  a  life  already  nearly  over. 
Yes,  she  was  starving,  and  was  glad  of  it.  A  great 
wave  of  exhaustion,  black  and  warm,  crept  in,  flood- 
ing and  drowning  her.  Then  she  knew  nothing 
more. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

THE   DAWN    OF   A    BRIGHTER   DAY 

NEXT  morning  Rebecca,  with  the  bread  and 
milk,  cautiously  opening  the  attic  door,  drew 
back  with  a  low  cry  of  alarm.  She  had  stepped  on 
the  slippery,  outspread  masses  of  Phil's  yellow  hair. 

Chill  with  terror,  the  old  woman  got  down  to  her 
knees,  and,  setting  the  tray  quickly  aside  on  the 
floor,  began  to  lift  up  the  prone  figure.  It  was 
yielding  and  warm  to  the  touch.  "  Praise  heaven 
and  His  mercies  for  this!"  muttered  Rebecca. 

The  girl's  face  had  as  little  of  color  as  the  goblet 
of  milk  by  her  side.  The  great  stone-gray  eyes  with 
their  black  fringes  and  flecks  of  gentian  purple 
slowly  opened,  and  fixed  themselves  steadily  on  her 
frightened  companion. 

"  Lord !  Lord !  "  sighed  Rebecca,  as  her  burden 
was  placed  on  the  bed.  "  But  you  skeered  a  whole 
year's  growth  outer  me  that  time,  Phil'mel."  In 
speaking,  the  corner  of  her  black  kitchen  apron  was 
raised,  and  the  old  servant's  damp  brow  vigorously 
mopped. 

Phil  stared  on  without  any  attempt  at  reply.  Now 
her  bloodless  lips  moved,  but  the  words  were  in- 
audible. 

Rebecca  nodded  as  though  she  had  heard  them. 


DAWN  OF  A  BRIGHTER  DAY     243 

"Yes,  things  is  considerable  better  downstairs  this 
mornin'.  Your  brother  slept  fine,  and  me  and  your 
Maw,  we  got  a  few  winks  too,  Glory  be !  'Tain't  no 
joke  nursin'  Edgar  when  he's  ailin'.  Now  you  try 
to  set  up,  Phil'mel,"  she  coaxed,  in  a  brisk,  kindly 
voice.  "  Drink  your  milk,  and  eat  some  of  your 
bread."  For  answer  the  child  gave  a  motion  of  re- 
pugnance and  turned  her  white  face  away. 

"  That's  right !  Don't  you  eat  that  dry  stuff !  " 
the  other  suddenly  exclaimed.  "  It  ain't  fit  for  a 
dog.  Jest  you  wait.  I'm  goin'  to  take  on  myself  to 
run  down  to  the  kitchen  and  drop  you  a  nice  egg  on 
some  toast.  I'll  declare,"  she  added,  her  eyes  brood- 
ing on  Phil,  "  but  you  look  a  lot  sicker  than  Edgar 
this  minute !  " 

She  was  moving  away,  when  Phil  reached  out  and 
caught  the  black  apron.  "  Do  vou  think  I  got  'fan- 
tile  peralysis  ?  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  die  ?  " 
The  questions  were  asked  with  strange  eagerness. 

Rebecca  looked  shocked.  "  Sufferin'  angels ! 
Who  says  that  I  said  sech  a  thing!  Of  course  you 
ain't  got  it.  You  let  go  my  apurn.  All's  the  mat- 
ter with  you  is  the  lack  of  real  food." 

Phil  clutched  the  more  desperately.  "  But,  Re- 
becca," she  explained,  "  don't  you  see  that  I'm  hop- 
ing I  have  got  it.  I  want  to.  Last  night  I  just 
prayed  and  prayed  hard's  I  knew  how  that  God  would 
send  it  to  me  in  the  place  of  the  others.  It  would 
kill  my  stepmother  if  anything  happened  to  Edgar, 
—  or,  over  there  next  door,  to  Rosa  Maria, —  and 
nobody  cares  much  about  me." 


244          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

The  old  woman  tugged  at  her  apron,  finally  wrench- 
ing it  free.  "  Of  all  the  queer  young  'uns,"  she 
murmured,  avoiding  the  big,  tragic  eyes. 

"  But  you  know  it's  the  truth,"  the  small  voice 
persisted.  "  Why,  just  look  at  you !  You  simply 
de-spise  me.  You  always  are  calling  me  '  spoiled,' 
and  a  '  vixen,'  and  saying  I'm  a  pest  in  the  house. 
You'd  be  glad  if  I  was  dead  and  away." 

"  No  such  a  thing,  you  young, — "  snapped  Kebecca, 
and  then  halted,  biting  her  lips  as  she  saw  with  what 
ease  the  harsh  phrases  came  to  her  tongue.  "  It's  jest 
my  way,  little  Phil,"  she  said  penitently.  "  I  don't 
mean  half  them  sharp  things  I  raps  out.  My  bark's 
lots  worse  than  my  bite ;  the  Lord  knows  that  I  hopes 
so!  All  the  same,"  she  declared,  as  if  making  a 
bargain  with  herself,  "  I  see  the  time's  come  when 
I'd  better  stop  it.  I'm  a  cross-grained,  hateful  old 
maid,  that's  jest  what  I  am;  but  when  all  of  this 
mis'ry  is  over,  we'll  try  to  do  better.  It's  nice 
havin'  a  little  girl  livin'  here  with  us." 

"  Oh,  Rebecca,"  Phil  breathed,  propping  herself 
up  on  one  elbow,  "  do  you  really  think  that  ?  And 
you  don't  hate  me  ?  " 

"  Here,  now,"  growled  the  other,  "  don't  you  worry 
'bout  nobody  hatin'  you.  Jest  you  lay  there  and 
wait  till  I  go  fix  you  up  some  kind  of  breakfast 
for  a  Christian  child." 

When  the  poached  egg,  the  milk  and  the  toast 
had  all  vanished,  this  changed  and  amazing  Rebecca 
said  brightly,  "  !N"ow,  Phil,  what  I'm  goin'  to  do  next 
is  to  give  this  rat's-nest  of  a  head  of  yourn  a  good 


DAWN  OF  A  BRIGHTER  DAY    245 

brushin'  and  combin',  and  do  it  up  right  in  its  two 
jailer  plaits.  Here,  set  down  in  your  rocker,  and 
I'll  take  the  high  cheer,  to  reach  handier.  You 
hardly  could  credit  now,  could  you,"  she  went  on  in 
the  same  pleasant  voice,  "  that  when  I  was  a  little 
girl,  same  as  you,  I  had  two  long,  yaller  plaits  jest 
like  yours  ?  " 

Phil  looked  round  through  a  screen  of  bright 
tresses.  "  Your  hair  isn't  so  awful  bad  now,"  she 
ventured  politely,  "  if  only  you  didn't  squeeze  it  back 
quite  so  hard,  and  do  it  up  in  that  little  brown  muf- 
fin. Don't  you  ever  wear  more'n  two  hairpins,  Re- 
becca ?  " 

"  I've  seemed  to  find  two  of  'em  plenty  for  my 
needs,"  chuckled  Rebecca.  "  I  don't  waste  much 
time  tryin'  to  fix  myself  up  to  be  pretty,  as  per- 
haps you've  noticed." 

"  But  you  ought  to,"  the  child  cried  impulsively. 
"You're  not  ugly  a  bit  when  you're  smiling,  and 
your  eyes  look  shiny  and  good,  like  they  do  now." 

To  this  no  answer  was  given.  Rebecca  apparently 
was  trying  to  swallow  a  something  that  stuck  in  her 
throat.  When  she  started  downstairs,  a  few  mo- 
ments later,  the  door  of  Phil's  room  was  not  locked. 

The  small  figure,  again  resting  among  pillows, 
noted  the  fact  with  little  interest.  She  had  no 
special  desire,  now,  to  leave  the  room.  She  had  no- 
where to  go.  No  one  wanted  her.  After  her  storm 
of  grief  and  repentance  the  previous  evening,  Phil 
had  a  queer  sense  of  having  forever  lost  all  the  joy 
of  her  childhood. 


246          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Listening  dully,  she  heard  Doctor  Evans  stop  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  come  in.  A  laugh  rose  from 
below,  then  the  voice  of  Rebecca  called  gaily,  "  Phil'- 
mel, —  Oh,  you  Phil !  Come  right  down  here. 
Your  Maw  wants  the  doctor  to  see  you." 

Phil  started  down  languidly.  Her  legs  wobbled, 
and  felt  curiously  weak,  so  that  she  actually  needed 
the  support  of  the  old  polished  balustrade. 

Rebecca,  on  watch,  fidgeted  at  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  Her  eyes  were  more  kind,  and  were 
"  shinier "  than  ever.  She  caught  Phil  by  the 
shoulder,  peering  down  in  evident  excitement. 
"  First  thing,  Phil,"  she  broke  out,  "  have  you  ever 
happened  to  have  measles  to  home  ?  " 

Phil's  mouth  opened.  "  Why,  yes, —  I  have  had 
them, —  last  year.  But  —  " 

Eebecca  laughed  out.  "  Never  mind  l  buts.'  If 
you  have,  then  walk  right  in  at  that  door." 

To  a  child  there  is  always  something  distinctly 
repellent  in  a  sick  chamber.  Out  from  this  one  now 
crept  mingled  odors  of  witch  hazel,  chloride  of  lime, 
and  stale  oranges.  She  paused  on  the  threshold,  but 
receiving  a  nod  of  encouragement  from  Rebecca, 
went  in. 

The  room  was  so  dark  that  all  Phil  could  see,  on 
first  entering,  was  the  curtained  gleam  of  a  window, 
and  two  shadowy  figures  moving  about,  both  "  grown- 
ups." 

She  felt  arms  about  her,  and  knew  it  to  be  Mrs. 
Merrill.  The  child  gave  a  faint  cry  and  stood 
trembling.  "  It's  all  right,  Philomel.  It's  all 


DAWN  OF  A  BRIGHTER  DAY     247 

right,  dear  little  daughter,"  said  the  mother's  glad 
voice.  "  Edgar's  going  to  get  well.  He  has  noth- 
ing but  measles, —  a  plain,  normal  case.  Everything 
is  all  right ;  and  I  know  that  my  dear  little  girl  will 
never  again  be  untruthful  or  disobedient." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  won't,  Mother.  I  won't,  never  till 
never, —  cross  my  heart !  "  said  Phil  fervently. 

Doctor  Evans,  leaning  over,  said  kindly.  "You 
poor  little  tot!  Why,  you're  whiter  than  flour! 
It's  a  shame  —  a  darned  shame !  "  he  broke  off.  A 
big  hand  caught  her  arm,  and  she  felt  herself  drawn 
close  to  the  good  doctor. 

"  Shame  or  no  shame,"  he  said  now,  half  laugh- 
ing, "  you  two  youngsters  have  given  us  all  a  terrible 
scare.  I  suppose,"  he  continued,  looking  upward  to 
Mrs.  Merrill,  "  that  our  minds  and  imaginations  are 
so  filled  with  the  fear  of  this  devilish  —  oh,  I  beg 
everybody's  pardon  —  this  mysterious  scourge  — 
that  we're  seeing  its  symptoms  where  they  never  ex- 
isted. Thank  God  that  this  time  I  guessed  wrong." 

"  But  Edgar, —  where's  Edgar  ?  "  Phil  demanded, 
beginning  to  peer  through  the  thinning  darkness. 

"  Here  I  am, —  in  the  bed,  Ninny.  Where'j  you 
reckon !  "  called  a  jubilant  voice.  "  And  I'm  just 
covered  ev'rywhere  with  little  red  spots,  like  pink 
sand  on  a  circus  cookie, —  ain't  I,  Mommer  ?  You 
ain't  got  any  spots,  old  Phil  Merrill.  Can  I  show 
Phil  all  my  spots,  Mommer  ?  " 

"Hold!  Hold!"  cried  the  doctor.  "In  good 
time,  little  man.  We've  got  to  keep  those  spots 
warm  for  a  day  or  two  yet." 


248          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Oh,  doctor,"  asked  Phil,  "  may  I  go  up  to  Ed- 
gar ?  May  I  kiss  him  ?  " 

The  doctor  nodded.  Ignoring  Edgar's  rebuff, 
"  No,  you  don't  kiss  me,  neither !  "  Phil  hurled 
herself  down  to  the  bed-clothes.  "  Oh;  Edgar !  " 
she  cried,  "  I'm  never,  never  going  to  be  mean  to 
you  any  more.  I'll  read  to  you  hours  and  hours 
from  my  fairy  books ;  and  I'll  make  up  the  wonder- 
fullest  new  stories  to  tell  you." 

"  Begin  me  one  now,"  dictated  the  tyrant. 

Phil  gasped.  "  You're  so  sudden !  I  must  think 
it  out  first  to  myself,  for  a  minute.  I  — " 

Here  a  blessed  diversion  occurred, —  the  entrance 
of  Rebecca  with  her  well-known  black  tray.  Phil 
shuddered  at  the  sight  of  it. 

Mrs.  Merrill  went  across  the  room  swiftly,  and 
raised  one  of  the  window  shades  by  a  few  inches. 

"  Put  the  tray  by  the  bedside,  Rebecca,"  she  di- 
rected. "  And,  now,  Mother' s-boy,"  she  smiled 
down  at  Edgar,  "  I  want  you  to  show  Doctor  Evans 
and  your  sister  how  much  of  that  good  gruel  you  can 
eat." 

"  I  won't  have  no  old  gruel !  "  snarled  Edgar,  in 
response  to  this  dulcet  appeal.  "  It's  nothin'  but 
corn  meal  and  water.  It's  just  mush,  and  I  hate 
it!" 

Phil  bent  to  him  eagerly.  "  Oh,  no,  Edgar.  It's 
not  mush  at  all,"  she  assured  him.  "  It's  polenta  — 
real  polenta.  The  Italian  children  next  door  sim- 
ply live  on  it.  It's  de-Ztc-ious.  Here,  try  just  a 
taste.  They  eat  it  with  red  onions  dipped  in  salt." 


DAWN  OF  A  BRIGHTER  DAY     249 

The  invalid  gulped  down  a  spoonful,  and  smiled 
sheepish  approval.  "  You  go  get  me  a  red  onion 
now,"  he  sat  up,  and  ordered  Eebecca. 

It  took  them  all  several  moments  to  convince  the 
small  patient  that  red  onions,  as  a  relish,  belonged  to  a 
much  more  advanced  stage  of  getting  well.  The  doc- 
tor, again  in  a  chair  near  at  hand,  watched  the  scene, 
laughing  softly. 

The  name  of  polenta  had  brought  back  to  Phil,  in 
a  sudden  dark  rush  of  fear,  the  fact  that  her  neigh- 
bors next  door  were  in  trouble.  She  slid  from  the 
bed,  and  went  up  to  the  doctor.  "  Oh,  doctor,"  she 
whispered,  pitching  her  voice  very  low,  "  please  tell 
me  about  the —  the  —  you.  know, —  the  Italians. 
Have  they  just  got  measles,  too  ?  " 

"  Surest  thing  that  you  know !  "  said  the  good  man. 
Phil  threw  an  instinctive  and  frightened  side  look 
toward  her  mother,  but  the  big  hearty  voice  boomed 
along.  "  The  eruption  on  their  little  brown  skins 
is  not  so  advanced  as  that  on  your  brother.  The 
germ,  wherever  it  came  from,  struck  him  first." 

Phil  required  a  full  moment  to  get  this  last  state- 
ment quite  clear.  Her  puckered  brow  betrayed 
mathematical  struggles.  "  Then  Edgar  never  got 
it  from  them  ?  "  she  said  slowly.  "  Edgar  started  it, 
and  I  took  it  to  them.  I  suppose  they  are  hating  me 
like  poison." 

"  Not  that  crowd !  "  laughed  the  doctor.  "  They 
wouldn't  recognize  '  hate  '  if  they  met  it  on  the  road 
at  high  noon.  They're  the  most  blithesome  and  win- 
ning young  lot  that  I've  ever  been  thrown  up  against. 


250          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

'  Sunshine  Beggars '  the  folks  about  here  are  begin- 
ning to  call  them.  It's  a  bully  good  name,  and,  I'll 
swear,  it's  an  outrage."  The  words  were  checked 
suddenly,  but  Phil  caught  at  his  hand,  shaking  it  to 
recall  him. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Doctor  Evans  ?  What's  an 
outrage  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  Has  anything  terrible 
happened  ? " 

The  doctor's  hand  went  up  through  his  gray  hair. 
"  JSTot  yet,"  he  replied,  "  but  it's  going  to.  It's  noth- 
ing a  little  girl  like  you  could  understand." 

"  But  I  can,"  Phil  persisted,  ignoring  her  step- 
mother's cold,  watchful  eyes.  "  Please  —  please  tell 
me.  I  can't  go  to  their  house  any  more,  but  I  love 
them.  What's  an  outrage  ?  " 

"  They're  to  be  sent  away,"  answered  he  sadly. 
"  After  all  of  the  work  they  have  put  on  their  poor 
little  home,  they  must  leave  it." 

"  Leave  their  home !  Leave  the  pond  and  the 
garden ! "  Phil  repeated  as  if  not  believing. 
"  Leave  the  print  of  Rosa  Maria's  hand  at  the  side 
of  the  door !  " 

Mrs.  Merrill  now  spoke.  "  I  consider  that  ex- 
cellent news,"  she  said  crisply.  "  I  suppose  it  is 
due  to  the  efforts  of  Mr.  Hopkins." 

"  Yes,  it's  Hopkins,  all  right,  or,  rather,  it's  Mrs. 
Hopkins,"  asserted  the  doctor  rather  wearily,  and 
went  on  to  explain.  "  When  the  first  scare  of  par- 
alysis struck  us,  the  Hopkins's  house  was  like  a  nest 
of  mad  hornets.  Twice  they  nearly  got  the  little  girl 
off  in  that  big  car  of  theirs,  and  both  times  the  local 


DAWN  OF  A  BRIGHTER  DAY     251 

quarantine  officers  turned  them  back.  They  were 
frantic.  Of  course,  now  I've  told  them  it's  measles, 
they  have  calmed  down  a  bit  But  the  fright  gave 
Mrs.  Hopkins  her  chance  at  the  poor,  unsuspecting 
Italians.  She  urged  Hopkins  to  rush  through  a  legal 
injunction  to  have  them  removed,  as  a  menace  to 
health.  I've  put  in  a  counter-appeal,  restraining  the 
serving  of  the  warrant  until  I  give  professional  as- 
surance that  the  children  are  well  enough  to  be  moved. 
But  that  means  ten  days  or  two  weeks  at  the  most." 

Phil  hid  her  face  on  the  doctor's  gray  sleeve  and 
began  softly  crying.  "  And  Annunciata  was  plan- 
ning to  spend  some  of  her  money  to  bring  their  sick 
father  home,"  the  child  sobbed. 

"  The  poor  chap's  there  now,"  sighed  the  doctor. 
"  He  got  there  this  morning,  and  they  are  all  just 
about  as  blissful  as  folks  on  this  earth  get  to  be. 
They  know  nothing  yet  of  Hopkins'  injunction. 
He'll  send  Ferris  to  tell  them, —  and  I  don't  envy 
Ferris  his  job." 

Mrs.  Merrill  kept  silent,  her  lips  set  and  thin. 

Suddenly,  to  the  amazement  of  all, —  the  speaker 
included, —  Kebecca  flared  out.  "  And  it  is  a  shame, 
too, —  a  clear,  burnin'  shame,"  she  cried  hotly. 
"  Not  that  I've  got  any  fondness  for  Eyetalians  and 
emigrants  in  gen'ral,"  she  threw  in  with  a  glance  of 
concern  toward  Mrs.  Merrill,  "  but  that  lot  over  next 
door  is  so  busy,  and  happy,  and  laughin' !  Somehow 
I'd  always  thought  of  furriners  as  bein'  lazy, —  but 
not  them!  They  come  to  a  hovel  as  would  make 
your  eyes  smart  with  its  ugliness,  and  by  jest  toilin', 


252          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

have  changed  it  to  the  show-place  on  Bible  Road." 

Doctor  Evans  rose  heavily  to  go.  He  stepped 
nearer  Phil,  who  had  gone  sobbing  over  toward  the 
window,  and  lifting  her  up  in  his  arms  said,  with 
deep  tenderness,  "  Don't  cry,  little  girl.  Crying  can 
do  nothing  to  help  them.  It's  a  darned  shame,  and 
I'd  like  to  run  those  rich  Hopkinses  off,  instead  of 
the  Italians ;  but  the  Hopkins  have  got  the  whip  into 
their  hands,  and  it's  hopeless." 

Phil  put  her  lips  close  to  his  ear.  "  Ask  Mother 
to  let  me  go  over  and  see  them,"  she  pleaded. 

In  spite  of  the  low  pitch  of  voice,  Mrs.  Merrill 
had  heard  her.  The  look  given  to  Doctor  Evans  was 
that  lady's  sufficient  reply. 

"  Maybe  you'd  better  not  go  yet  awhile,  little  girl," 
he  said  soothingly. 

"  Well,  then,"  whispered  Phil  as  his  clutch  began 
loosening,  and  she  felt  herself  slipping  to  the  floor, 
"  ask  her  if  I  can't  go  see  Ma  Comfort." 

"  I  really  am  at  a  loss  to  imagine,  Philomel,"  here 
put  in  the  stepmother  very  stiffly,  "  why  such  ques- 
tions are  not  put  directly  to  me,  instead  of  through 
Doctor  Evans.  One  would  think  I  maltreated  you. 
If  he  assures  me  there  is  no  risk  in  your  resuming 
your  visits  to  Mrs.  Giddings,  and  you're  so  eager 
to  go,  I'd  be  the  last  one  to  forbid  you." 

The  doctor,  now  realizing  who  Phil  meant  by  "  Ma 
Comfort,"  exclaimed,  "  To  be  sure  there's  no  risk ! 
Those  kind  souls  carry  ozone,  and  health,  and  good 
cheer  about  with  them.  Let  the  little  girl  go  by  all 
means,  Mrs.  Merrill." 


DAWN  OF  A  BRIGHTER  DAY     253 

Edgar  sat  straight  up  in  his  bed.  "  You  shan't 
go  now,  neither,  Phil  Merrill,"  he  protested. 
"  Don't  let  her  go,  Mommer.  She  said  she  would 
tell  me  a  story." 

"Don't  cry,  Edgar,"  smiled  Phil.  "Of  course 
I'm  going  to  do  that  first  of  all.  Here,  move  over 
a  little,  so's  I  can  get  one  end  of  a  pillow,  close  to 
your  ear.  This'll  be  a  splendiferous  story.  Once 
on  a  time,  long  ago,  there  was  a  stone  tower  miles 
and  miles  high  — " 

"  Yes !  "  breathed  Edgar,  wriggling  excitedly. 

"  And  up  in  the  very  tip  top  of  that  tower  they 
shut  up  a  poor  little  girl  — " 

"  No !  "  checked  Edgar  peremptorily.  "  I  won't 
have  it  a  girl.  It's  a  boy, —  a  poor  little  boy  with 
red  spots." 

"All  right,"  said  Phil  meekly,  and  commencing 
all  over  again,  "  Once  on  a  time,  long  ago,  there  was  a 
stone  tower  miles  and  miles  high,  and  up  in  the  top 
of  it  they  shut  up  a  poor  little  boy  with  red  spots  — " 

Edgar  chuckled  with  deep  satisfaction,  and  moved 
closer  to  Phil.  "  A  poor  little  boy  with  red  spots," 
he  repeated.  "And  they  didn't  give  him  nothin' 
to  eat  but  polenta  and  little  red  onions  — " 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

PA  GIDDINGS  KEMEMBEES  A  FEIEND 

THE  fairy  tale  went  on.  It  was  interrupted 
now  and  again  by  corrections  and  emendations 
from  Edgar,  but  little  by  little  the  boy's  voice  grew 
drowsy,  and  soon  his  low,  regular  breathing  told  that 
he  had  fallen  happily  asleep. 

Phil,  raising  herself  by  both  hands,  looked  curi- 
ously down  upon  her  stepbrother,  almost  as  if  she 
were  seeing  him  for  the  first  time.  Flushed  by  fever, 
and  sprinkled  pathetically  with  the  red  spots  of  which 
he  was  so  proud,  the  small  face  was  sweet,  and  more 
childlike  than  ever  before. 

With  a  warm  throb  of  the  heart  Phil  said  to  her- 
self, "  Why,  I  believe  I  could  love  Edgar  some,  after 
all, —  even  if  he  hasn't  got  black,  curly  hair  like  the 
Italians.  Maybe,  if  I  can  really  love  him,  he  will 
stop  whining  so  much,  and  calling  me  names,  and 
making  faces.  I'm  going  to  try  for  it,  anyway." 

Leaning  closer  she  gently  deposited  on  his  fore- 
head the  kiss  so  recently  avoided,  and  then,  with  a 
sense  of  elation  she  had  not  known  for  many  tem- 
pestuous weeks,  slid  noiselessly  from  the  bed,  and 
went  into  her  stepmother's  chamber  adjoining. 

Mrs.  Merrill  stood  at  a  window  gazing  outward 


PA  REMEMBERS  A  FRIEND     255 

and  up  to  banks  of  drifting  clouds,  frothy  white,  with 
the  lower  edges  darkened  blue  by  threats  of  a  mid- 
summer shower. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  all  right  for  you  to  go  to  the 
beach  now,  little  daughter,"  she  said,  hearing  Phil 
coming.  "  These  clouds  temper  the  sun  nicely,  and 
I  don't  believe  it  is  going  to  rain  before  you  get  back. 
Run  along, —  have  a  good  time,  but  come  home  pretty 
soon.  We  all  need  you." 

"  Yes'm  —  yes,  Mother,"  said  Phil  joyously,  but 
she  made  no  motion  to  go,  and  the  stepmother,  look- 
ing around,  saw  the  child  twitching,  as  if  wishing  to 
ask  something  more. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  my  dear  ? "  she  smiled  encour- 
agingly. 

"  Do  you  mind,"  Phil  broke  out,  "  do  you  care, 
Mother,  if  I  change  this  brown  dress  for  a  clean  one  ? 
I  got  this  all  rumpled  lying  on  Edgar's  bed." 

"  Certainly  not.  You  can  put  on  anything  that 
you  care  to,"  was  Mrs.  Merrill's  hearty  reply. 

It  was  seldom  indeed  that  Phil  took  any  thought 
of  what  she  should  wear.  Clothes  to  her  were  usu- 
ally as  negligible  as  feathers  to  any  young  bird. 
But  to-day,  after  her  recent  period  of  chastening,  and 
with  the  knowledge  of  the  harrowing  news  she  must 
bear  to  the  house  boat,  she  had  a  childish  desire  to 
dress  for  the  part  she  was  playing. 

The  black  and  white  gingham  frock  was  selected  as 
most  suitable,  then  she  changed  her  white  stockings  to 
black  ones.  Her  "  best "  hat,  the  one  worn  to 
church,  or  on  her  rare  trips  into  the  village,  was  of 


256          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

white,  with  a  ribbon  of  dark  blue.  Over  this  she 
now  twisted  a  black  one,  and,  slipping  off  from  her 
plaits  the  two  brown  bows  neatly  tied  by  Eebecca,  felt 
herself  ready  to  start. 

To-day  there  could  be  no  dancing  or  singing  along 
Bible  Road.  Her  steps  were  taken  sedately,  and 
were  kept  to  the  small  beaten  path  at  the  side  of  the 
thoroughfare.  Blooms  of  clover  and  dandelion  and 
pink  Bouncing  Betty  drew  across  her  slender  black 
slippers.  Quite  over  her  head  the  rich  purple  iron 
weed,  and  a  few  early  plumes  of  bright  golden  rod 
waved  and  nodded. 

As  she  neared  the  far  edge  of  her  orchard,  sounds 
of  voices  and  laughter  came  out  from  the  Bertollotti 
home  with  such  clearness  that  Phil,  working  her 
way  farther  in  among  the  tall  roadside  foliage,  de- 
liberately crouched  down,  parting  stems  and  peering 
to  see  her  forbidden  beloved  ones. 

Annunciata's  wooden  bed  had  been  brought  out  to 
the  verandah  in  the  sunshine.  On  it  lay  the  sick 
father,  his  face  haggard  and  yellow  with  long  illness. 
On  the  floor,  within  reach  of  his  hand,  lay  Lucia  and 
little  fat  Hugo,  on  the  same  dingy  pallet  of  rags. 

Annunciata  and  her  small  weaving-hoop  were 
perched  on  the  foot  of  the  bed,  while  the  Madre,  at 
pause  in  the  doorway,  stood  looking  down  at  her 
husband,  her  dark  face  tender  with  happiness.  All 
were  smiling, —  all  serene, —  in  a  radiant,  loving 
contentment. 

A  sob  rose  in  Phil's  throat.  Tears,  hot  and  salt, 
stung  her  eyelids.  "  They  sha'n't  be  driven  away 


PA  REMEMBERS  A  FRIEND     257 

from  their  home !  "  she  said  fiercely.  "  It  would 
be  too  terribly  wicked  to  run  them  off  after  all  that 
they've  done  to  make  it  so  pretty.  Ma  and  Pa  Gid- 
dings  will  think  out  a  way  to  keep  them  from  going. 
I  wish  Pa  would  drown  Mr.  Hopkins !  " 

When  the  vine-covered  gate  of  the  cottage  was 
reached,  Phil  stopped  short  and  looked  mournfully 
inwards,  then  shrank  back,  as  she  saw  that  Annun- 
ciata's  large,  sorrowful  eyes  were  fixed  full  upon 
her. 

Phil's  hands  clasped,  and  went  up  to  her  breast. 
Her  face  was  a  small,  passionate  prayer.  The  Ital- 
ian girl,  seeing  it,  gave  an  exquisite  smile  of  forgive- 
ness, at  which  Phil,  choking  down  rising  sobs,  man- 
aged an  answering  smile,  and  nodded  her  thankful- 
ness. 

It  was  hard  to  keep  on  after  this,  but  Phil  made 
herself  do  it,  though  her  heart  broke  anew  with  each 
step.  She  had  lost  these  dear  friends.  That  was 
certain.  All  that,  during  the  whole  summer  past, 
she  had  worked,  lied,  deceived,  and  connived  for, — 
her  intercourse  with  the  fascinating  strangers  next 
door, —  had,  in  a  moment,  been  deprived  her. 

"  If  only,"  the  child  thought,  "  they  did  not  live 
right  by  me,  and  I  didn't  see  them  all  day,  or  have  to 
listen  to  them  laughing !  " 

Then,  recalling  the  doctor's  words,  she  knew  that 
it  was  the  Italians,  and  not  herself,  who  soon  must 
be  moving  beyond  sight  and  hearing. 

"  No,  not  that !  "  Phil  now  cried  aloud.  "  Any- 
thing,—  dear  Lamb  of  God, —  but  sending  them  off. 


258          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

I  don't  care  how  bad  I  may  feel.     If  only  they  don't 
have  to  leave  Bible  Road." 

She  trudged  on,  oppressed  by  unhappy  reflections. 
To  let  them  all  go  without  further  sign,  without 
words,  spoken  or  written  from  her,  seemed  too  much 
for  endurance.  Then,  at  the  term  "  writing,"  her 
face  lighted.  "  That's  just  what  I  can  do,"  she 
exclaimed.  "  I'll  write  'Nunciata  a  long  letter. 
Even  Mother  couldn't  mind  that, —  and,  besides,  I 
won't  tell  her.  I'll  begin  the  minute  I  get  back  from 
Ma  Comfort's.  And  I  believe  she  will  answer  it, 
too, — 'Nunciata's  so  good.  We  can  start  a  regular 
correspondence.  It  will  be  lovely !  " 

Much  cheered,  and  now  quite  absorbed  in  compos- 
ing her  future  epistles,  Phil  had  walked  swiftly  for- 
ward with  no  idea  of  how  far  she  had  gone. 

She  was  vaguely  aware  of  the  shimmer  of  the  sea 
down  in  front  of  her,  showing  blue  patches  through 
the  limbs  of  green  trees,  and  even  more  vaguely  she 
knew  that  for  some  moments  past  the  wall  of  the  Hop- 
kins' Crimson  Ramblers  had  been  tumbling  and 
reaching  toward  her  like  the  crest  of  a  huge,  scarlet 
wave. 

She  was  brought  to  herself  by  the  clear,  treble  voice 
of  Constantia.  "  Hello,  Phil  Merrill !  " 

The  wayfarer,  startled,  looked  round.  "  Oh, 
hello ! "  she  rejoined.  "  I  can't  stop  now,  Con- 
stantia. I'm  in  an  awful  hurry  about  something. 
But  I'll  stop  and  play  when  I  come  back." 

Miss  McCracken,  whom  Phil  had  not  seen,  rose 
from  a  bench  where  she  had  been  reading,  and  hur- 


PA  REMEMBERS  A  FRIEND     259 

ried  toward  the  two  children.  A  firm  hand  was 
placed  on  Constantia's  much-ruffled  shoulder. 

"  I'm  afraid  that  will  be  impossible,"  said  the 
trained  nurse,  speaking  directly  to  Phil.  "  Con- 
stantia  has  never  had  measles." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right !  "  exclaimed  Phil,  who,  in- 
deed, felt  only  relief.  "Well,  good-by  then,  Con- 
stantia,"  she  cried  gaily.  "  Good-by.  I  must  hurry, 
—  good-by." 

But  Constantia  proved  far  from  compliant. 
"You  people  all  make  me  tired,"  she  exclaimed, 
shrugging  her  shoulder  away,  and  lifting  an  angry 
face  to  that  of  the  trained  nurse.  "  I'm  never  al- 
lowed to  go  anywhere,  or  play  with  anybody.  I 
can't  move  without  somebody  following  me." 

"  I  am  merely  carrying  out  your  mother's  instruc- 
tions, Constantia,"  said  Miss  McCracken.  "  I  am 
sure  I  wish  you  could  play  with  little  Phil  Merrill, 
or  any  one  else,  for  that  matter.  It  would  be  a  great 
respite  for  me." 

"  Things  wouldn't  be  so  if  it  wasn't  for  those  hate- 
ful Italians,"  the  angry  child  cried.  "  There's  been 
nothing  but  fussing  and  trouble  ever  since  they 
moved  in.  Mamma  won't  even  let  me  look  at  them 
playing  and  singing  down  there  in  their  own  yard. 
But  they've  got  to  go  now,"  she  added  triumphantly. 
"  My  Daddy  is  having  them  run  off." 

"  They  won't  be  run  off  either,  Constantia  Hop- 
kins," answered  Phil  hotly.  "That's  what  I'm 
going  to  fix  up  right  now.  Ma  and  Pa  Giddings 
won't  let  them  be  run  off;  you  just  see !  " 


260          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Miss  McCracken  gave  a  little  dry  laugh,  but  her 
cool  steady  eyes  had  a  kind  look.  "  If  any  one  per- 
son could  prevent  it,"  she  stated,  recalling  the  scene 
on  the  Hopkins'  verandah,  "  it  would  be  Mrs.  Gid- 
dings.  But  in  this  case  I  fear  that  even  her  energies 
are  hopeless." 

"  She  can't  do  a  thing,  or  you  either,  Phil  Mer- 
rill," stormed  Constantia.  "  She's  a  common  old 
fishwife.  Mamma  said  so,  and  she  won't  let  me  go 
to  their  boat,  though  I  screamed  for  an  hour  to  go. 
And  even  if  she  could  fix  it,  I  know  a  way  by  myself 
to  get  rid  of  the  Dagoes.  I've  planned  it  all  sum- 
mer. You  watch  me !  " 

"  Constantia,"  frowned  Miss  McCracken.  "  Stop 
speaking  in  that  excited,  ugly  manner;  it  is  bad  for 
your  voice.  And  stop  stamping  your  foot.  I'm  sur- 
prised at  such  conduct.  You  have  nothing  to  do  with 
the  affair,  one  way  or  another." 

"  Oh,  haven't  I,  though ! "  cried  Constantia. 
"  You  just  wait.  I  know  a  way  to  get  even !  " 

Phil  sped  down  the  road,  glad  enough  to  make  her 
escape.  The  wide  curve  of  the  bay  was  in  sight.  A 
breeze  was  blowing  that  stirred  the  water  to  scallops 
of  blue  shot  with  silver.  Far  out,  the  bright  streak 
of  Laddie's  Island  shone  like  a  broad  emerald  smile. 
It  was  all  very  beautiful, —  quite  as  enchanting,  in 
its  own  placid  way,  as  the  jewelled  stretch  of  the  Ber- 
tollotti's  flower-starred  garden. 

And  there,  close  at  hand,  was  the  house  boat, —  the 
small  green  and  white  house  boat, —  fringed  about  its 
tiny  front  deck  with  flowers.  Phil  grew  more  tran- 


PA  REMEMBERS  A  FRIEND     261 

quil.  All  trouble  must  surely  end  here.  Not  a  soul 
was  in  sight,  neither  Ma,  nor  Pa  Giddings,  nor  Lad- 
die. Phil  wondered  where  on  earth  the  whole  fam- 
ily could  be. 

She  ran  down  the  long  stilted  pier.  There  was 
no  sound  of  life  near  her  except  that,  on  the  poop 
deck,  three  of  Ma  Comfort's  shadow  children  raced 
and  curved  in  a  game  of  gay  squirrel  tag.  They 
darted  in  three  separate  ways  as  she  neared  them. 
The  boldest  ran  up  an  awning  post,  hid  himself  to  the 
elbows  in  leaves,  and  cocked  a  black  bead  of  an  eye 
toward  the  intruder. 

"  Where's  everybody  gone,  all  at  once,  little  gray 
brother  ?  "  Phil  demanded.  For  answer  the  shadow 
flake  pensively  scratched  himself  under  a  fuzzy 
chin. 

The  child  moved  slowly.  The  silence  was  grow- 
ing uncanny.  She  could  not  have  believed  that  the 
dear  little  house  boat  could  lie  so  mysteriously  still. 
Not  even  the  hum  of  one  of  Ma's  plaintive  love  bal- 
lads stole  forth  on  the  delicate  air. 

Phil  was  half-way  down  the  four  front  steps  when 
the  first  sound  arrested  her.  It  might  have  been  the 
sound  of  low  weeping,  but  who,  in  that  home  of  con- 
tentment, would  weep  ?  She  ran  down  the  steps,  and 
up  to  the  wide-opened  door,  where  she  stood  speech- 
less. 

At  the  table  was  Ma  Comfort,  her  sleek,  parted 
brown  head  prone  upon  it.  In  his  chair  by  the  fire- 
place, a  spot  filled  now,  in  summer,  with  dried  ferns, 
sat  Pa  Giddings,  his  chin  on  one  hand.  Hearing 


262          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

Phil,  he  looked  up,  and  his  wrinkles  strove  hard  to 
gather  into  a  welcoming  smile. 

The  child  ran  to  his  side.  "  Oh,  Pa  Comfort," 
she  whispered,  "  what's  the  matter  ?  Is  Ma  cryin' 
because  she  has  heard  ?  " 

Pa  nodded  a  mournful  assent,  but,  from  the  table, 
came  a  snort  as  of  angry  defiance. 

"  Yes,  I  heered,  and  I'm  cryin',"  Ma  declared, 
with  a  look  toward  Phil  which  seemed  to  suggest  that 
the  child  was  the  cause  of  the  trouble.  "  And  who 
wouldn't  beller  and  bawl,  I  would  ask  you, —  with 
such  vileness  as  this  goin'  on  ?  Oh,  them  poor  Bek- 
kylockies, —  them  lovely,  sweet,  sunshine  Eyetalians, 
—  to  be  drove  out  of  their  home  at  the  whim  of  that 
huzzy,  Mis'  Hopkins!  The  man  ain't  so  bad.  Pa 
saw  him.  It's  that  huzzy,  it  is,  and  shame  to  her! 
How  did  you  come  to  know  'bout  it  so  early,  my 
lamb  ? " 

"  Doctor  Evans  told  mother  this  morning,"  an- 
swered Phil.  "  He  said  it  was  a  darned  shame,  and 
it  is!  I've  been  crying  and  crying  about  it,  but  that 
don't  do  any  good.  My  stepmother's  glad,  but  al- 
most everybody  else  is  real  sorry,  even  Rebecca  and 
Constantia's  nurse,  Miss  McCracken.  But,  Ma 
Comfort,  you  and  Uncle  John  surely  won't  let  Mrs. 
Hopkins  be  so  wicked.  That's  why  I  came  here  in 
a  hurry,  to  tell  you  it  just  mustn't  happen.  Why, 
it  can't!" 

Before  the  big,  confident  eyes  Ma's  head  lowered. 

"  But,  Ma  Comfort !  "  protested  Phil,  and,  in  her 
excitement,  laid  hold  of  one  of  the  stout  arms  that 


PA  REMEMBERS  A  FRIEND     263 

were  stretched  out  on  the  table,  and  began  shaking  it 
violently.  "  Don't  hide  your  face  and  keep  moaning. 
Of  course,  you  can  stop  it !  You  and  Uncle  John  can 
have  the  law  on  them.  Just  look  how  easy  you  got 
'Xunciata's  money  for  her  lace !  " 

Ma  was  silent  except  for  her  sobs.  John  looked 
up  and  beckoned  the  little  girl  closer. 

"  It's  like  this,  little  Gran'darter,"  he  began  in  his 
usual  slow,  kindly  voice.  "  The  law,  right  this 
minute,  is  our  foe.  The  laws  of  this  Christian 
land,"  he  went  on  somberly,  "  they's  a  good  deal  like 
snakes;  all  depends  on  the  way  they's  picked  up. 
Kow  these  Hopkinses  is  holdin'  a  rattlesnake  law, 
called  '  ejection,'  and  the  pizen-end  heads  towards  the 
Bertollottis.  It  claims  the  Eyetalians  is  nuisances 
and  pests  to  our  neighborhood." 

Pa  got  no  further.  "  A  nuisance  they  is !  A  pest, 
is  they !  "  Ma  volleyed.  "  They's  not  half  the  pesses 
their  own  spiled  child  is !  And  a  nice  little  gal  she'd 
be,  too,"  flung  in  Ma,  quite  illogically,  "  if  she  were 
only  brung  up  more  diff  runt.  But  now,  'cause  Mis' 
Hopkins  is  skeered  her  Constantia'll  ketch  something 
'sides  bad  manners,  the  whole  kit  an'  bilin'  of  Eye- 
talians must  go.  Oh,  them  blessed  brown  babies,  all 
a-workin'  from  sun-up  to  sun-down  to  make  their 
little  home  pritty!  And  fat  little  Hogew  what  al- 
ways eats  when  I  tell  him, —  and  Nuncy-yawter, — 
a  sancterfied  child  if  one  ever  breathed  in  this  desert 
of  human  depravity, —  and  poor,  poor  Mis'  Bellicotie, 
—  jest  a-sheddin'  out  joy  'cause  that  weazen,  sick 
husban'  of  hern  is  come  back, —  it  is  simply  heart- 


264          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

ren-derin',  it  is.  Seems,  somehow,  as  if  I  wouldn't 
be  able  to  bear  it !  Oh,  John, —  they  must  be  sum- 
thin'  else  we  can  do.  I'm  like  Phil  here, —  don't 
seem  it  can  happen !  " 

A  fresh  outbreak  of  sobbing  made  the  whole  little 
home  rock  and  shiver.  Phil  looked  back  at  Pa.  His 
eyes,  lowered,  were  set  on  the  ferns. 

Phil's  harassed  mind,  beating  about,  thought  of 
Laddie.  She  had  not  caught  a  glimpse  of  him  yet. 

"  Where's  my  dog,  Pa ;  where's  Laddie  ?  "  she 
questioned,  as  if  thankful  to  have  found  this  new 
interest. 

"  He's  out  to  the  Island,"  said  Pa.  "  You  see,"  he 
explained,  at  her  look  of  surprise,  "  when  me  and 
Comfort  first  heard  of  this  thing, —  it  was  early  this 
mornin', —  we  saw  right  off  as  how  we  must  get  up 
and  hustle.  We  started  for  Kington, —  to  a  lawyer, 
—  and  even  hunted  up  the  old  Jedge,  who's  a  great 
friend  of  mine,  as  he  was  of  your  father's,  God  bless 
him." 

"  But  Laddie, —  why  did  Laddie  go  out  to  the  Is- 
land ?  "  reminded  his  little  mistress. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Laddie,"  said  Pa.  "  Of  course,  me  and 
Ma  saw  we  couldn't  sail  inland  with  that  wrigglin' 
craft  in  our  wake.  He'd  be  certain  to  trail  us,  even 
if  we  managed  to  slip  off,  and  so,  befo'  startin',  I  jest 
rowed  him  over  and  left  him." 

"  They  was  two  great  big  bones  for  his  dinner, 
and  some  corn  bread,"  put  in  Ma,  as  well  as  she 
could  for  her  sobbing. 

"  We  ain't  bin  back  here  long,"  added  Pa.     "  And 


somehow,  in  all  of  the  mis'ry,  I  ain't  had  the  heart 
to  row  over  and  fetch  him." 

Phil  nodded  complete  understanding.  In  the 
blackness  of  this  threatening  cloud,  Laddie's  presence 
or  absence  did  not  matter.  She  sat  down  on  a  chair, 
and,  unconsciously  copying  Pa  Giddings,  set  a  droop- 
ing face  on  one  palm.  "  And  the  lawyer-man,  Pa  ?  " 
she  now  questioned.  "And  the  Judge, —  couldn't 
they  do  anything  either  ?  " 

A  desolate  head-shake  from  John  was  sufficient 
reply. 

Phil  caught  at  a  new  gleam  of  hope.  "  Did  you 
try  the  'Piscerpalean  minister  ? "  she  asked  quickly. 

Old  John  accomplished  the  hint  of  a  smile. 
"  Law,  little  Phil,"  he  returned,  with  a  low  chuckle, 
"  you  mout  as  well  ask  me  if  I  baited  my  fishhooks 
with  glue." 

"  We've  tried  everything  —  everything !  "  de- 
clared Ma,  sitting  upright,  and  forcing  herself  under 
more  definite  control.  "  Nearly  all  of  the  people 
we  went  to  agreed  that  the  thing  was  an  outrage,  and 
oughtn't  to  happen, —  but  that  was  as  far  as  they 
went.  They  all  says  as  that  land  agent,  Ferris,  was 
the  one  to  blame  from  the  first." 

A  growl  from  Pa  Giddings  preceded  the  muttered 
remark  that  he'd  "  take  pleasure  in  choppin'  that 
Ferris  into  crab-meat." 

"  We've  went  round  from  store  to  store-keeper," 
said  Ma.  "  We've  gone  from  house  door  to  house 
door  like  beggars.  No  collector  for  missions  has 
ever  showed  more  zeal  in  their  work  than  we  done. 


266          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

But  it's  all  proven  useless.  We've  seen  everybody, 
and  bin  everywhere, —  ain't  we,  John  ?  " 

Pa  did  not  answer.  His  blue  eyes  were  lifted. 
He  stared  out  through  the  door  with  the  look  which, 
once  before,  had  been  on  his  face  at  the  vision  of  a 
tall  white-robed  form  by  a  Palestine  road,  with  arms 
reaching  downward  as  He  said,  "  Little  children, 
come  unto  Me." 

"  Why,  Paw, —  why,  John  Giddin's,"  cried  his 
wife,  her  voice  touched  with  excitement.  "  What  on 
earth  is  you  seein'  ?  What  is  ailin'  you  ?  " 

John  rose  to  his  feet.  His  far-gazing  eyes  never 
turned  from  the  shimmer  of  waters.  "  Just  this, 
Comfort,  wife,"  said  John  reverently,  "  we  ain't 
through  tryin'  yet,  after  all !  We  says  we've  done 
everything,  and  tried  everybody, —  but  it  come  to  me 
all  of  a  shock, —  as  if  Somebody  whispered, —  that 
the  one  place  they's  any  use  tryin', —  the  one  Pusson 
that  always  can  help, —  and  He  does, —  we  ain't  bin 
to  at  all !  "  Ma  stood  still,  her  eyes  on  him.  Long 
before  the  speaker  had  finished,  the  light  from  his 
face  shone  on  hers.  Then  her  head  bent  before 
him. 

"  Oh,  John,"  she  said  humbly,  "  my  dear  man. 
You've  always  bin  better  than  me.  To  think  I  for- 
got to  ask  Him!  God  forgive  me.  Here,  Phil,  git 
down  to  your  knees.  Husband,  kneel  here  beside 
me.  Hold  my  wicked  old  hand  in  your  good  one. 
Here  and  now  we  are  goin'  to  carry  this  trouble  to 
the  foot  of  the  White  Throne  of  Him  what  has  said, 
'  If  any  man  ask  in  My  name, — '  and  '  When  two  or 


PA  REMEMBERS  A  FRIEND     267 

three  gathers  together.'  Gather  in'  time  is  here  now ! 
Phil,  my  dear  little  gran'darter,  you  pray  too.  Put 
your  bright  head  up  clost  to  my  shoulder.  All  kneel, 
and  now,  one  —  two  —  three, —  all  begin !  " 


CHAPTEE  TWENTY-FOUR 


PHIL  carried  back  with  her,  along  Bible  Road, 
a  heart  strangely  tranquil.  Remembering 
her  stepmother's  affectionate  words,  "  Come  home 
pretty  soon.  We  all  need  you,"  she  took  care  to  re- 
turn in  good  time  for  luncheon. 

Immediately  after,  she  was  going  to  write  her  first 
letter  to  Annunciata.  Making  some  trivial  excuse, 
she  went  up  to  her  room  in  search  for  paper,  ink,  and 
an  envelope  but,  finding  none,  was  compelled  to  seek 
aid  from  her  stepmother. 

"  Another  letter  to  Cousin  Betty  ?  "  inquired  Mrs. 
Merrill  pleasantly.  "  Of  course  you  shall  have 
paper  and  envelopes,  and,  instead  of  the  ink  which 
overturns  so  easily,  suppose  you  try  this  new  pencil. 
It  is  one  of  your  brother's,  with  the  American  flag 
stamped  upon  it.  You  shall  have  it  for  your  own." 

"  She  sha'n't  have  one  of  my  'Merican  pencils, 
neither !  "  promptly  contradicted  Edgar  from  the 
bed.  "  They  are  mine.  Me  and  Rebecca  bought 
them  in  the  five-and-ten-cent  store  down  to  Kington." 

Mrs.  Merrill  gave  him  a  look  of  gentle  reproof. 
"  Now,  Edgar,  remember  you're  Mother's  dear,  good 
little  boy,"  she  flattered.  "  And  your  sister  is  very 
thoughtful  and  kind  since  you've  been  ill.  I  can't 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER  269 

bear  my  boy  to  be  selfish.  You  have  four  of  the 
pencils.  Surely  you're  willing  to  give  Philomel 
one." 

"  But  I  don't  want  her  to  go  and  write  any  old  let- 
ter," he  complained,  holding  the  gift  forth  with  re- 
luctance. "  I  want  her  to  tell  me  a  story." 

"  I'll  come  right  back  here  the  minute  I  finish," 
promised  Phil.  "  And  I'll  tell  you  the  prettiest  one 
yet,  honest  I  will,  Edgar." 

"  Honest  ?  "  echoed  the  boy,  sitting  upright,  and 
frowning  with  the  intensity  of  his  appeal.  "  Hon- 
est ?  Cross  your  heart  ?  Hope  to  die  ?  " 

"  Cross  my  heart, —  hope  to  die,"  reiterated  Phil 
solemnly,  as  she  went  through  the  desired  cryptic 
motions. 

"  An'  you  declare  before  goodness  it  ain't  goin'  to 
be  a  long  letter  ?  "  haggled  the  small  tyrant. 

Mrs.  Merrill  broke  in  with  a  laugh.  "  There, 
Phil,  you've  promised  enough,"  she  asserted.  "  Run 
right  along.  I'll  read  to  your  brother  until  you  get 
back.  Do  you  want  me  to  help  you  compose  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  No,  thank  you,  Mother,"  the  girl  an- 
swered hurriedly.  "  I've  got  to  do  this  one  all  by 
myself." 

She  ran  to  the  door,  thankful  to  be  so  nearly  out 
of  it,  but  Mrs.  Merrill  had  not  finished  yet. 

"  What  is  your  Cousin  Betty's  present  address  ? 
Are  you  quite  sure  you  have  it  ?  "  she  questioned. 

"  Yes'm.  Yes,  Mother,  I'm  sure,"  the  impatient 
child  panted.  "  She's  over  at  a  big  school  in  Bal  — 
ball-baltimore.  It's  written  plain  on  the  top  of  her 


270         SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

letter."  This  statement  caused  evident  surprise. 
"At  school!"  Mrs.  Merrill  exclaimed.  "Why,  I 
had  fancied  your  cousin,  Miss  Preston,  quite  an 
elderly  person." 

"Oh,  she  is!  Aw-ful  old!"  emphasized  Phil. 
"  She's  not  going  to  school  as  a  scholar.  She's  learn- 
ing to  be  a  sure-'nuff,  grown-up  teacher,  so  she  can 
teach  girls  bigger  than  me." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  young  and  charming  Betty 
Preston  was  exactly  twenty-two  years  of  age. 

"  Oh,  is  that  it  ? "  said  the  other  with  a  small, 
humorous  twitch  of  the  lips.  "  Yes,  Edgar.  Don't 
begin  fretting.  Mother  will  get  you  the  book  right 
away." 

Phil,  thankful  at  last  to  be  free,  ran  up  to  her 
room,  drew  a  chair  up  to  the  dresser,  tossed  back  the 
plain  scarf,  and  began  writing. 

"My  own  precious,  dear,  darling  Annunciata," 
the  letter  was  started.  There  were  many  side-tilts 
of  the  smooth,  yellow  head,  and  much  audible  suck- 
ing of  the  pencil's  blunt  end  before  the  missive  was 
completed.  At  last  four  close  pages  were  covered, 
and  Phil  held  them  at  arm's  length,  for  a  victorious 
survey. 

They  were  folded  and  the  envelope  directed,  not 
without  many  flourishes  of  the  "  'Merican  "  pencil. 
In  one  corner, —  the  one  where  a  stamp  should  have 
been, —  Phil  outlined  two  hearts,  intertwining.  A 
long  arrow  held  them  together.  On  one  was  the  in- 
itial "  A,"  and  its  mate  bore  a  top-heavy  "  P." 

The  next  problem  was  how  to  get  it  into  the  hands 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER          271 

of  the  Italians!  The  writer  slipped  quietly  out  to 
the  hall  and  leaned  over.  From  the  invalid's  room, 
came  the  low,  steady  sound  of  the  mother's  voice, 
reading.  Phil  smiled.  This  was  quite  as  it  should 
be.  She  crept  down  the  stairs  without  a  single  be- 
trayal of  old  creaking  boards,  gained  the  lower  flight, 
then  the  front  door,  and,  with  her  letter  clasped  close, 
flew  down  straight  through  the  orchard. 

On  reaching  the  end  of  St.  Cristofo's  Ferry,  she 
perceived  that  the  vigorous  plants  springing  there  in 
moist  earth  had  crowded  much  higher  since  the  last 
time  she  had  seen  them.  She  raised  herself  to  her 
toes,  peering  over,  but  no  Bertollotti  was  to  be  seen. 

She  climbed  up  to  the  tree  from  which  still  de- 
pended the  half-broken  limb.  This  had  not  withered 
at  all.  Upon  it,  as  on  all  the  rest  of  the  branches, 
green  apples  were  plumping;  but  Phil  did  not  dare 
add  even  her  light  weight  to  the  thick-set  young 
fruit. 

From  the  fork  she  again  stood  on  tiptoe,  gazing 
outward.  The  garden  was  empty  of  human  inhab- 
itants, and  Phil,  sighing  deeply,  was  just  about  to 
slip  down  when,  coming  out  from  the  cave,  she  spied 
Tonio's  black  head. 

"  Tony !     To-nio !  "  she  called  to  him  softly. 

The  boy,  whose  ears  were,  for  sharpness,  like  those 
of  a  trained  setter  dog,  looked  instantly  towards  her. 

"  Come  here,  Tony,"  repeated  Phil,  beckoning. 
"  Please  come." 

The  boy  scowled.  "  Nix !  "  he  retorted.  "  Your 
folks  is  ashamed  of  lettin'  you  be  near  us." 


272          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"But,  Tonio,"  argued  Phil,  "that's  my  folks. 
That  ain't  me!  I'm  perfectly  crazy  about  all  of 
you,  and  I  wish  I  could  live  in  your  house.  Here's 
a  long  letter  I've  just  wrote  to  'Nunciata,  telling  her 
so."  Here  the  white  letter  was  temptingly  waved. 

Tonio's  scowl  did  not  go  but,  at  least,  he  was  mov- 
ing toward  her.  Half-way  over  the  board  that 
spanned  St.  Cristofo's  Ferry,  he  stopped  short.  "  If 
you's  got  anything  fer  my  sister,  you  gotter  bring  it 
out  here  to  me,"  he  announced  with  decision.  "  ]STot 
one  frog- jump  furder  into  your  ole  stepmother's 
yard,  do  I  come !  " 

"  But,  Tonio !  How  can  I  ?  Don't  you  see  I'm 
way  up  in  the  tree  ?  " 

"  What's  de  matter  wid  lettin'  go  sudden,"  sug- 
gested the  other  unkindly.  "  You'll  come  down 
quick  enough.  Well,  what  goes  next  ?  You  drop,  or 
I  beat  it?" 

"  ISTo, —  don't  go.  Don't  you  dare  turn  your  back 
on  me,  Tonio !  I'm  comin'  this  minute !  "  called  out 
Phil,  and  began  scrambling  earthwards.  "  Ouch ! 
Now  see  what  you've  done !  You  have  made  me  tear 
a  big  hole  in  my  stocking!  Here's  the  letter,  old 
Mister  Meany !  But,  Tonio, —  just  one  minute 
more.  Tell  me  something  'bout  Rosa  Maria." 

At  this  question  the  boy,  in  spite  of  his  churlish- 
ness, could  not  keep  back  a  grin.  "  De  kid's  begun 
chatterin'  all  at  onst,"  he  replied,  his  face  eager. 
"  She's  a.  human  talkin'-machine,  is  Eosa  Maria. 
We  all  jes'  sets  in  a  ring  'round  her,  listenin'." 

"  Oh,  oh !     I  must  hear  her.     But  her  sickness, — 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER          273 

her  measles, —  Tonic-  ?     How  is  that  getting  along  ?  " 
Philomel  urged. 

Tonio  shook  his  black  head.  All  brightness  went 
from  him  instantly. 

"  Not  good.  De  fever  dat's  got  her  is  fierce.  It's 
what's  helpin'  to  make  her  do  so  much  talkin'.  Them 
prickles  of  red  like  what's  on  Lucia  and  Giovanni, 
they  jes'  won't  bust  out.  The  doctor  is  giv'  her  a 
new  kind  of  med'cine." 

"  She's  be  all  right  in  a  minute  when  the  'ruption 
does  bust,"  said  Phil  hopefully.  "  My  measels  done 
—  did  —  exactly  that  way.  Tell  me,  Tony,  what 
words  is  Kosa  Maria  saying?  I'm  just  dying  to 
hear!" 

"  You  can  die,  den,"  growled  the  troubled  boy 
rudely.  "  It  ain't  nothin'  to  me !  "  and  with  the 
harsh  statement  began  kicking  the  side  of  the  board. 
The  dry,  rasping  sound  made  Phil  shudder. 

"  Don't  you  do  that !  "  she  cried,  in  the  tone  An- 
nunciata  used  in  correcting  the  children.  "  You  are 
barefoot,  and  you'll  get  your  big  toe  chuck  full  of 
splinters !  'Lijah  always  had  his  like  a  needle-book. 
Please  tell  me  what  Rosa  Maria  is  saying." 

Tonio,  clinging  hard  to  his  surliness,  got  out  some- 
thing about  its  being  his  toe,  and  therefore  none  of 
Phil's  business. 

The  girl's  delicate  chin  quivered.  "  If  you  knew 
half  how  much  I  loved  Rosa  Maria,"  the  plaintive 
voice  said,  "  you  couldn't  have  the  heart  to  be  mean. 
She  loves  me  too,  because  her  dimples  begin  when- 
ever I  come  near  her.  It  isn't  my  fault, —  now,  is 


274          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

it  —  that  I've  got  only  a  step,  instead  of  a  real-f  or- 
true  mother  like  the  Madre  ?  I  should  think  you'd 
be  sorry,  and  try  to  act  kind,  instead  of  looking  as  if 
you  could  bite  me !  " 

Before  this  appeal,  the  boy's  pretense  of  enmity 
vanished.  "  De  kid  likes  you  all  right,"  he  ad- 
mitted, with  a  sigh  of  defeat.  "  De  very  fust  word 
she  spoke  out  was  your  name, —  Phil.  '  Feel, — 
Feel ! '  she  keeps  chirpin', —  like  a  bird  wid  one  note. 
Her  teeth  was  all  shinin',  and  her  cheeks  dancin'  in 
dimples,  and  whilst  she  was  peepin'  an'  chirpin',  she 
kept  lookin'  'round  her  like  dis." 

With  the  words  Tonio  lengthened  his  throat,  and, 
perking  his  head  from  one  side  to  another,  gave  a 
very  good  picture  of  a  lively  young  crow  on  its 
nest. 

Phil  laughed  at  the  sight.  "  Oh,  the  darling ! 
The  precious,  cute  an-gel !  I  just  got  to  see  her !  I 
don't  care!  If  she's  calling  my  name  and  looking 
for  me,  like  you  say,  I  am  going !  " 

She  dashed  for  the  ferry.  Tonio  steadied  his  legs 
on  the  plank.  Two  forbidding,  grimy  hands  were 
flung  up,  the  palms  outward. 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  he  said  quickly.  "  Not  one 
step.  We  ain't  wantin'  no  folks  in  our  house  as  is 
'shamed  of  bein'  seen  there.  I  heered  what  you  hol- 
lered dat  day  to  de  Hopkins  kid  up  on  de  bank.  I 
don't  keer  if  you  ain't  got  only  a  stepmother.  What 
she  says  to  you  goes!  You  can't  come  to  our  house 
any  more,  till  you  walks  in  de  gate  like  a  lady.  Dis 
ferry  is  done  for.  Here,  gimme  dat  bill,"  he  broke 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER          275 

off,  reaching  out  for  the  letter.  "  I  got  no  more 
time  wastin'  here." 

Under  the  lash  of  his  tirade,  Phil  had  slowly  re- 
treated, inch  by  inch,  and  now  stood  well  on  her 
side  of  the  old,  crumbled  wall.  She  held  out  the 
envelope.  "  Thank  you  for  taking  it,  Tonio,"  she 
said  meekly.  "  I  know  that  you're  right  about  my 
having  to  mind  my  stepmother.  She's  good  to  me 
now,  and  I  ought  to  want  to  mind  her,  oughtn't  I  ? 
Please,  please  beg  'Nunciata  to  answer  my  letter. 
Do  you  think  that  she  will  ?  " 

Tonio  grunted.  "  Does  I  think ! "  he  scoffed. 
"  Dat  sister  of  mine  is  so  soft  she  cries  when  she  cuts 
de  eyes  out  of  pertaters !  " 

"  And  you'll  bring  me  her  answer,  right  away  ? 
You'll  bring  it  out  here  ? "  pursued  Phil,  seeing  her 
advantage. 

"  I'll  bring  it  all  right,  ef  she  asts  me,"  he  said. 
"  But  dey  ain't  no  use  your  bein'  here.  I'll  stick  it 
down  there  in  de  stones,"  he  pointed,  "  exactly  half- 
way between  your  yard  an'  mine." 

"  All  right,  and  thank  you  again,"  said  Phil.  "  I 
love  you  too,  Tonio,  even  if  you  did  talk  so  mean." 

Phil  climbed  up  through  the  orchard  to  the  house. 
She  was  conscious  of  hoping  that  her  stepmother  was 
still  beside  Edgar,  reading,  so  that  there  would  be  an 
opportunity  to  slip  unperceived  to  her  attic  chamber 
and  change  the  torn  stocking  for  a  whole  one. 

Caution,  this  time,  was  in  vain.  As  she  crept  up 
the  first  flight  of  stairs  Mrs.  Merrill  heard  her  and, 
opening  softly  the  door  of  the  sick-room,  leaned  over 


276          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

the  balustrade  with  a  finger  of  warning  against  her 
smiling  lips. 

Phil  braced  herself  for  a  new  trial.  Mrs.  Merrill 
moved  round  to  the  head  of  the  steps.  "  Edgar's 
sleeping,"  she  whispered,  as  though  Phil  had  not  al- 
ready guessed  it.  "  Why,  Phil !  How  on  earth  did 
you  get  that  great  rent  in  your  stocking  ?  " 

"  In  an  apple  tree,"  answered  the  child,  briefly. 

"  Come  into  my  sewing  room,"  said  Mrs.  Merrill 
softly.  "  We  shall  see  what  can  be  done." 

The  speaker  walked  back  along  a  narrow  hallway, 
and  turned  in  at  a  door  to  the  right.  The  small 
room  had  but  a  single  rather  large  window  and  this 
gave  to  the  west.  The  midsummer  sun  was  pouring 
into  it,  and,  as  Mrs.  Merrill  sank  to  her  usual  low 
rocker,  made  a  great  flood  of  light  at  her  back. 

She  put  out  a  hand  and  drew  the  hesitant  child 
to  her  knee. 

"  Philomel,"  the  grave  voice  questioned,  "  have 
you  been  only  to  the  orchard  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Mother,"  said  Phil,  very  low. 

"  Not  one  inch  farther  ?  Not  a  step  into  forbid- 
den ground  ?  Remember,  I  trust  you." 

"  I  didn't  go  even  an  inch  out  of  the  orchard,"  re- 
peated the  other  more  firmly,  but  still  she  found 
difficulty  in  meeting  her  mother's  frank  gaze. 

The  sunshine  fell  full  on  the  girl's  face.  She 
looked  upward  into  its  brightness.  For  some  reason, 
she  could  not  say  why,  in  the  shimmering  radiance 
she  seemed  to  see  plainly  the  faces  of  Pa  and  Ma 
Comfort  as  they  knelt  in  the  small  boat-house  cabin. 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER          277 

Behind,  in  an  aura  of  luster  still  fainter,  shone  the 
sweet  loving  Annunciata,  the  Madonna  and  Child, 
and  the  bottle  with  its  sprays  of  blue  flowers. 

The  child's  wide  eyes,  almost  as  blue,  came  back 
to  her  stepmother's  eyes,  and  remained  there. 

"  I  did  start  over  next  door,"  she  said  bravely. 
"  That  letter  I  wrote  was  to  'Nunciata,  and  not 
Cousin  Betty  at  all.  I  didn't  tell  you  a  regular  story 
about  it,  but  I  let  you  believe  it  was  to  Cousin  Betty, 
and  I  know  that  was  every  bit  as  bad.  I  went  to  the 
orchard,  and  climbed  up  into  the  big  leaning  tree. 
I  called  out  to  Tony,  for  I  wanted  him  to  carry  my 
letter.  I  made  him  come  over  to  me,  though  he 
didn't  want  to.  He's  mad  with  me,  Tonio  is.  All 
of  the  Italians  are  mad  with  me." 

The  hurried  words  ceased.  "Yes,  I  am  listen- 
ing," said  the  stepmother. 

Phil  drew  in  a  second  long  breath.  "  When  Tony 
had  come  to  the  ferry,  and  told  me  about  Kosa  Maria, 
—  how  sick  she  was  with  the  measles  not  coming  out, 
and  how  she  was  talking,  and  kept  calling  for  me, — 
1  Feel !  Feel ! '  just  like  that,—  well,  I  just  didn't 
care  about  you,  or  my  promise,  or  anything !  I  said 
out  loud  that  I  was  going,  and  I  started  right  straight 
across  St.  Cristofo's  Ferry  — " 

"  Across  —  what !  Across  what,  did  you  say  ?  " 
interrupted  the  other,  slightly  startled. 

"  St.  Cristofo's  Ferry.  It's  only  a  plank  that's 
over  the  ditch  leading  down  from  the  Hopkins'  big 
fish-pond.  Before  Cris  put  it  there,  one  day,  he 
carried  me  across  on  his  shoulders,  and  when  he  set 


278          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

me  down  on  dry  ground,  near  'Nunciata,  she  laughed, 
and  called  him  St.  Cristofo, —  that's  his  name-saint, 
you  know.  And  then  when  I  asked  them,  they  told 
me  the  story  of  the  good  saint,  and  the  little  child 
Jesus,  what  got  heavier  and  heavier  while  the  ferry- 
man lifted  him  over." 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Merrill.  "  I  have  heard  the  old  legend.  Then, 
Philomel,  when  you  were  on  the  bridge,  and  so 
greatly  tempted  to  cross,  I  hope  that  your  conscience 
and  the  memory  of  your  promise  to  me  held  you 
back.  That  was  it,  surely." 

Phil  felt  her  hand  taken  caressingly.  The  step- 
mother's eyes  were  quite  sweet.  The  child  had  a 
short,  agonized  struggle.  How  easy, —  how  terribly 
easy, —  just  to  reach  out  and  take  the  bright  crown 
of  reward ! 

"Yes'm —  that's  so!  It's  just  what,"  the  eager 
voice  began,  then,  falling  back  a  few  steps,  with 
head  lowered,  Phil  said  clearly,  "  No,  it  wasn't !  I 
sha'n't  tell  you  any  more  stories.  I  was  going!  I 
thought  of  my  promise  to  you,  and  it  didn't  stop 
me  a  bit.  What  stopped  me  was  Tonic's  saying, 
'  No,  you  don't !  Not  one  step.  We  ain't  wantin' 
no  folks  in  our  house  as  is  ashamed  of  bein'  seen 
there ! '  He  said  it  like  that." 

"  Tonio  said  it !  To-nio,  one  of  the  Italians !  " 
murmured  the  other  incredulously. 

"  Yes,  he  did,"  stated  Phil,  "  and  he  meant  it. 
They  wouldn't  any  of  'em  even  let  me  come  to  their 
house  now." 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER          279 

As  if  in  a  daze,  Mrs.  Merrill  rose  from  her  chair, 
and,  crossing  to  the  window  stood  staring  out.  Phil, 
after  a  moment  of  thought,  joined  her.  The  step- 
mother put  out  an  arm  and  drew  the  child  close  to 
her  side.  A  queer  silence  fell  over  the  two.  Phil 
wondered  greatly  what  the  motionless  figure  was 
thinking. 

Mrs.  Merrill  drew  her  other  hand  slowly  over  her 
forehead  and  eyes.  She  seemed  rousing  herself  to 
realities. 

"  Suppose,  little  daughter,"  she  said,  moving  back 
to  the  rocker,  "  that  while  Edgar's  asleep,  you  run  up 
and  change  the  torn  stockings  for  good  ones.  Bring 
those  down,  and  I'll  mend  them  at  once.  You  can 
sit  here  beside  me,  and  —  and  —  I  think  I  will  get 
you  to  tell  me  some  more  of  your  friends,  the  Ital- 
ians." 

"  Oh,  Goody  !  "  cried  Phil.  "  We'll  do  it !  I  can 
sit  on  this  little  red  stool, —  like  'Nunciata  on  hers 
with  the  lace, —  and  I'll  keep  all  the  needles  full  of 
darning  cotton,  as  I  used  to  for  Grandma  when  she 
mended  my  stockings.  Won't  it  be  perfectly  scrump- 
tious !  " 

The  darning  was  brought,  and  the  needles  so  rap- 
idly threaded  that  the  stepmother,  gaily  protesting, 
declared  she  could  not  keep  up  with  them.  As  for 
Phil,  it  was  hard  to  believe  her  own  happy  senses. 
That  it  was  really  herself,  sitting  here  in  the  sun 
by  her  "  Mother,"  pouring  forth  endless  narratives 
not  only  of  the  neighbors  next  door,  but  of  Ma  Com- 
fort, and  Uncle  John,  and  Laddie, —  surely  this  was 


280          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

one  of  the  "  merracles  "  in  which  Pa  so  securely  be- 
lieved. 

Swiftly  darted  the  needle  in  and  out  of  Phil's  stock- 
ing, and  as  swiftly  came  the  stepmother's  questions. 
Through  the  child's  simple  words  Mrs.  Merrill  felt 
herself  living  bodily  the  life  of  the  long-scorned  Ital- 
ians, and,  taking  in  for  her  own  the  wholesome  con- 
tent of  the  house  boat.  More  than  once  her  quick 
laughter  rang  out.  "  Just  like  me,"  thought  Phil, 
echoing  the  laughter.  Again, —  and  this  was  more 
puzzling, —  Mrs.  Merrill  would  let  the  work  fall  and 
sit  brooding  for  a  long  moment,  her  lips  set,  her 
«yes  mysterious  and  level. 

As  the  story  of  Rosa  Maria  and  the  spoiled  festa 
was  finished,  the  listener  furtively  lifted  the  stocking 
and,  pretending  to  scrutinize  the  darn,  wiped  her 
eyes. 

"  You  see,  Mother,"  Phil  said,  in  a  low,  contrite 
Toice,  "  I  had  just  run  into  their  house,  screaming 
mad,  because  Edgar  had  ruined  my  picture.  I 
wanted  almost  to  kill  him,  and  when  I  got  there  and 
saw  all  of  them  loving  and  kissing  Rosa  Maria  when 
she'd  just  spoiled  the  festa, —  well, —  I  —  I  — " 

"  You're  not  the  only  one,  dear,"  whispered  the 
other,  "  who  is  finding  out  many  things  to  be  learned 
from  our  neighbors.  But  now,"  she  exclaimed,  in 
a  more  practical  manner,  "  both  stockings  are  fin- 
ished." 

"  Oh,  don't  let's  go  yet,"  the  girl  pleaded.  "  It's 
•so  nice  in  this  dear  little  room,  with  just  me  and  you. 
I  could  stay  here  forever."  Even  in  speaking,  she 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER  281 

jumped  to  her  feet.  "  Oh,  Mother !  "  she  cried, 
"  maybe  'Nunciata  is  already  answered  my  letter. 
Do  you  care  if  I  go  look  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  I  don't  care,"  replied  Mrs.  Merrill. 

"  And  will  you  wait  right  here  till  I  get  it  ?  "  urged 
Phil.  "  If  it's  there,  it  won't  take  me  two  shakes 
of  a  sheep's  tail  to  find  it." 

"  Yes,  I'll  wait,"  smiled  the  mother,  and  now 
there  was  no  hint  of  a  frown  at  Phil's  "  lingo  "  so 
plainly  derived  from  Elijah. 

In  a  very  short  while  Phil  returned,  two  steps  at 
a  time  up  the  stairway.  The  letter  was  waved  in 
the  air.  "  I  got  it !  "  she  called  quite  superfluously. 
"  It's  all  glued  up  in  the  nicest  envelope,  with  real 
gold  on  the  edge.  That  means  secrets!  Here, 
Mother,  you  read  it  out  loud." 

Mrs.  Merrill  sank  back  just  a  little.  "  You  want 
me  to  read  it  first,  Phil  ?  "  she  asked  rather  faintly. 

"  Nome.  We'll  read  it  together,"  corrected  Philr 
as  she  perched  on  the  arm  of  the  rocker. 

A  strange  stiffness  grew  in  the  stepmother's  throat. 
For  an  instant  she  feared  she  might  break  down 
into  weeping.  But  control  was  a  habit  with  her, 
and  she  fought  back  the  impulse. 

Neatly  opening  the  envelope  with  her  scissors,  she 
took  out  a  page.  Phil  slipped  down  to  her  stool. 
Her  arms  were  crossed  confidentially  on  her  mother's 
black-clad  knees,  and  the  gray-blue  eyes,  lifted 
hopefully,  seemed  to  wait  for  the  first  spoken 
word. 

"  '  My  sweet  friend,  Philomel  Merrill,'  "  the  reader 


282          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

began,  then  for  a  moment  the  letter  was  held  to  one 
side.  "  Why,  what  exquisite  writing !  "  Mrs.  Merrill 
exclaimed  in  genuine  wonder.  "  It  is  perfect.  I 
hadn't  an  idea  — " 

"  It's  the  nuns  in  the  Convent  of  Mercy  that 
taught  her,"  Phil  proudly  declared.  "  They  are  big, 
holy  nuns.  They  know  every-ihing  I  " 

Presbyterian  Mrs.  Merrill  read  on,  somewhat  hast- 
ily. "  '  I  take  my  pen  in  hand  to  send  you  an  answer 
quick.  We  are  all  making  happy  to  have  your  kind 
letter.  We  all  feel  very  bad  as  you  cannot  any  more 
come  to  our  house.  We  all  miss  you.  Rosa  Maria's 
fever  is  fierce.  We  are  worried  about  her,  but  we 
say  a  nuovena  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  she  will  get 
well.  She  is  crying  for  you  and  says  '  feel,  feel '  so 
pitiful.  I  wish  you  could  come,  but  we  know  you 
can  not  when  your  stepmother  says  no  you  cannot. 
I  am  sorry  you  have  a  stepmother,  my  poor  friend. 
I  wish  you  had  a  real  mother  like  mine.  Tonio  told 
us  what  you  said  on  St.  Cristofo's  ferry  of  wanting 
a  real  mother.  We  all  cried.  We  will  pray  for 
you  in  the  nuovena  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  to  get  a  real 
mother  so  you  can  come  to  see  us  once  more.  With 
Respect  and  the  Blessing  of  God,  I  remain, 
"  '  Your  obedient  Servant, 
"  *  ANNTJNCIATA  BEETOLLOTTI.'  ' 

The  reading  was  finished.  Mrs.  Merrill's  voice 
had  evenly  held.  She  folded  the  pages,  returned 
them  to  the  envelope/  and  handed  it  down  to  Phil. 
Her  face  was  entirely  expressionless. 


A  "  REAL  "  MOTHER  283 

"I  —  I  —  didn't  say  a  thing  ugly  about  you  to 
Tonio,  Mother,"  the  child  stammered.  "  Of  course, 
any  girl  wants  a  real  mother." 

"  That's  all  right,  little  daughter,"  said  the  other, 
"  I've  not  the  least  doubt  that  whatever  was  said  was 
entirely  deserved.  I  am  wondering  now,"  she  went 
on,  as  if  speaking  more  to  herself  than  to  Phil,  "  if 
perhaps  I  may  not  be  able  to  help  Annunciata  to 
receive  an  answer  to  her  prayer  ?  "  Then  she  looked 
full  at  the  girl  by  her  knee.  "  Do  you  think,  Phil  ?  " 
she  asked,  almost  shyly,  "  that  you  could  make  a 
'  real '  mother  out  of  me  ?  " 

Phil  stared.     "  But  my  real  one's  in  heaven !  " 

"  I  know  it, —  and  your  '  real '  father,  too. 
There's  just  you  and  Edgar  and  me  left  together  on 
earth.  Don't  you  think,  for  the  sake  of  those 
blessed  ones  up  above, —  we  should  learn  to  love  each 
other  dearly  ?  " 

Still  Philomel  gazed.  She  could  not  entirely  be- 
lieve what  was  happening.  "  Oh,  Mother,"  she 
whispered  at  last,  in  a  voice  full  of  reverence,  "  your 
eyes  look  like  Uncle  John's  eyes  when  they're  out  on 
the  far,  shining  water.  Do  you  believe  that  my  fa- 
ther and  my  real  angel  mother  are  listening  to  us 
right  now  ?  For  I  do.  I  just  know  it !  " 

With  a  cry  the  mother  stooped  over,  dragging  the 
child  upward,  and  close  to  her  breast.  The  two 
clung  together,  swaying  and  sobbing  aloud.  In  the 
healing  floods  drenching  each  cheek,  was  the  baptism 
of  a  true  newness  of  life. 

"  Oh,  dear  little  Phil,"  sighed  the  other,  when  the 


284          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

first  storm  of  emotion  was  spent,  "it  is  not  so  much 
that  you've  found  a  mother  as  that  I've  won  a  real 
little  daughter  straight  down  from  heaven!  Oh, 
how  blind, —  how  incredibly  blind  and  narrow  I've 
been,"  she  mused  sadly.  "  How  mistaken  with  Ed- 
gar ;  and  to  think  that  most  of  my  life  has  been  spent 
among  children,  and  I've  never  known  one, —  no,  not 
one, —  not  even  my  own  idolized  boy." 

Phil,  with  just  the  least  hint  of  timidity,  put  her 
hand  to  her  mother's  wet  cheek,  and  turned  it  about 
to  her  own.  "  Now,  Mother,"  she  smiled  through 
her  tears,  "  you  mustn't  look  sorry  like  that.  We 
ain't  any  of  us  going  to  be  sorry  any  more, —  not  you 
or  me,  or  even  Edgar.  Listen !  "  she  cried,  her  head 
lifting,  "  I  hear  Edgar  now.  He's  woke  up.  He  is 
calling  for  both  of  us.  Don't  you  hear,  it's  my  own 
little  brother  that's  calling?  We  must  go  to  him 
quick.  Come,  Mother,  —  real  Mother, —  let's  run !  " 


"  Come,  Mother,  —  real  Mother,  —  let's  run!  "     l'ag< 


CHAPTEE  TWENTY-FIVE 

IN    WHICH    CONSTANTLY    GETS    EVEN 

NEXT  morning  Phil,  in  her  bed,  neither  sleep- 
ing nor  waking,  felt  her  drowsy  young  spirit 
being  led  back  to  daily  affairs  by  the  song  of  a  robin 
perched  in  the  apple  tree  nearest  her  window. 
"  Phil-o-mel !  Phil-o-mel !  "  he  was  calling,  on  per- 
haps just  such  a  note  as  the  precious  brown  baby  next 
door  had  called  out  "  Feel !  " 

From  across  the  bare  hallway  Rebecca  could  be 
heard  moving  about  her  small  room.  A  knock  came 
to  Phil's  door.  "  Time  to  tumble  outer  that  bed, 
little  Miss  Sleepy,"  a  pleasant  voice  said. 

"  All  right,  Becky.  The  robin  has  just  been  tell- 
ing me  so." 

What  magic  had  happened  to  change  the  whole 
house  from  a  prison  of  gloom  to  what  Phil  now 
thought  of  as  a  real,  sure-enough  home? 

In  the  breakfast  room  Mrs.  Merrill  held  out  wel- 
coming hands. 

"  How  is  Edgar  ?  "  was  the  first  question  on  Phil's 
lips. 

"  Nicely.  He  couldn't  be  doing  better.  I  shall 
let  him  sit  up  a  few  hours  this  forenoon,"  was  the 
mother's  happy  reply. 


286          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

The  once  hated  duty  of  tidying  her  room  was  ac- 
complished this  morning  by  Phil  with  singing, 

"  A  merry  heart  goes  all  the  day, 
Your  sad  one  tires  a  mile-a," 

she  carolled. 

The  next  step  was  to  be  a  visit  to  the  invalid,  that 
is,  if  the  little  boy  were  yet  ready  to  receive  her. 
She  tapped  softly  on  the  door.  Mrs.  Merrill,  open- 
ing it  by  an  inch,  gave  a  gesture  of  silence,  and  then, 
emerging,  led  Phil  a  short  distance  down  the  hallway. 
Smiling  down,  the  mother  said,  "  Phil,  there  is  an  er- 
rand I  would  like  you  to  do  for  me." 

"Yes,  Mother,  anything  you  want,"  was  the  in- 
stantaneous reply. 

"  Do  you  remember  how  Edgar  loved  that  calves'- 
foot  jelly  last  night  ?  "  the  speaker  pursued,  her  eyes 
dancing. 

"  Why,  of  course.  I  licked  the  bowl  for  him,  it 
was  so  good.  And  he  let  me,"  answered  the  child, 
marvelling  greatly  what  her  stepmother's  errand  could 
have  to  do  with  an  invalid's  delicacies. 

"  Rebecca  happened  to  make  an  extra  bowl  of  it, 
and  I  thought  that  maybe  your  sick  little  friends  over 
next  door  — " 

The  speech  got  no  further.  Two  childish  arms 
were  thrown  about  Mrs.  Merrill's  slim  waist,  and  be- 
gan tightening  with  convulsive  fervor. 

"  You're  going  to  let  me  go  over, —  to  walk  right 
in  at  their  gate  like  a  lady,  as  Tonio  said  ?  You're 
going  to  send  the  sick  ones  some  of  Edgar's  lovely 


CONSTANTIA  GETS  EVEN     287 

jelly?  Oh,  Mother,  it's  too  heavenly  sweet  to  be 
true!" 

"  But  it  is  true.  Doctor  Evans  assures  me  that 
there  is  no  risk  whatever  in  letting  you  go.  Now 
come  with  me  down  to  the  pantry,  while  I  tie  up  the 
bowl  in  a  napkin,  and  make  it  look  neat.  I'll  de- 
clare," Mrs.  Merrill  asserted  as  the  two,  arm  in  arm, 
made  their  way  down,  "  I  am  getting  as  indignant  as 
you  and  Rebecca,  at  the  thought  of  those  industrious 
children  being  driven  away  from  their  home." 

Phil  paused  on  the  stair,  to  make  the  coming  state- 
ment more  impressive,  "  Now  don't  you  worry  about 
that  for  a  minute,"  she  said  earnestly.  "  They  are 
not  going  to  be  driven  away." 

Mrs.  Merrill  displayed  both  interest  and  astonish- 
ment. "  Why,  Philomel,  what  can  you  mean  ?  The 
Hopkinses  are  not  the  kind  to  act  generously.  Have 
you  heard  anything  new  ?  " 

"  Nome,  not  yet !  "  Phil  replied  in  the  same  tone 
of  perfect  assurance.  "  But  yesterday  down  at  the 
boat  house,  me  and  Ma  Comfort  and  Pa,  we  just  got 
down  on  our  marrow-bones  and  told  God  the  whole 
business.  All  three  of  us  prayed,  and  we  kept  at  it 
so  long  and  so  loud  that  God  couldn't  help  hear- 
ing us,  not  even  if  He  put  both  hands  up  over  His 
ears." 

"  Oh,"  murmured  the  other.  "  And  so  this  is  why 
we  need  not  worry !  Well,  who  knows !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, her  face  touched  with  a  gleam  of  the  child's 
fervor.  "  You  are  right  to  believe  that  God  can  and 
will  help  your  friends,  dear  little  daughter." 


288          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

To  herself  Mrs.  Merrill  was  thinking,  "  If  the 
prayers  of  the  righteous  avail,  surely  a  loving  Father 
leaned  close  to  those  three  sweet-hearted  children." 

The  bowl,  covered  and  then  pinned  across  with  two 
of  the  household's  best  "  doilies,"  was  set  on  a  small 
silver  tray,  and  Phil  bidden  to  start. 

More  overwhelmed  with  importance  than  a  royal 
nurse  bearing  the  heir  to  a  throne  on  its  first  out- 
ing, the  bringer  of  gifts  paced,  inch  by  inch,  along 
sunshine-flooded  Bible  Eoad.  With  head  high,  she 
passed  in  at  the  flower-decked  gate,  and,  between  the 
two  out-rolled  golden  carpets  of  dandelions,  walked 
straight  up  to  the  cottage. 

The  first  to  see  her  was  Annunciata.  She  ran  for- 
ward, her  orange  and  blue  kerchief  standing  out  to 
a  point  in  the  wind.  "  Oh,  Pheelomel,  mia, —  my 
friend,"  she  called  softly  in  coming.  "  It  is  all 
right  ?  She  has  let  you  ?  The  stepmother  says  you 
can  come  ? " 

"  My  s£ep-mother,"  echoed  Phil  proudly.  "  No, 
not  much.  Here's  some  jelly  for  the  children.  It  is 
sent  from  my  real  mother  to  yours."  With  a  grand 
gesture  the  bowl  was  delivered. 

The  Italian  girl  did  not  need  speech.  Her  eyes 
of  lambent  thanksgiving  were  enough.  Taking  the 
tray  she  sped  into  the  house  to  the  blue  and  white 
Virgin,  and  set  the  white  offering  before  her. 

As  the  slender  brown  hands  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  Phil  instinctively  copied  the  motions.  She 
was  not  able  to  say  the  queer,  hurried  words,  all 
broken  with  smiles,  that  poured  from  the  Italian's 


red  lips,  but  feeling  too  happy  for  silence,  made  up 
her  own  prayer.  "  I  thank  you,  dear  Mrs.  God,  for 
letting  me  have  a  real  mother,  and  Rosa  Maria,  and 
Annunciata,  and  Ma  Comfort,  and  Uncle  John,  and 
Laddie.  Please  make  Rosa  Maria  get  well,  for  Jesus 
Christ's  sake,  Amen." 

The  jelly,  being  thus  dedicate,  was  carried  to  the 
delighted,  vociferous  Madre.  After  this,  the  next 
great  event  was  Phil's  presentation  to  the  Padre. 

He  was  gaining  in  strength  every  day,  Annun- 
ciata told  her.  Fresh  air  and  the  love  all  about  him 
were  making  him  well. 

Phil  was  led  to  the  invalid's  throne  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  just  under  the  green  arbor  of  dish-rag 
gourd  vines.  The  one  rocking  chair  was  set  out,  and 
covered  with  the  best  piecework  quilt.  The  arbor, 
all  flaunting  on  top  with  wide  yellow  blossoms,  was 
hung  underneath  in  heavy  fruit  that  looked  tempt- 
ingly like  very  fat  cucumbers. 

Mr.  Bertollotti  nodded,  with  the  adored  Rosa 
Maria  in  his  lap.  He  seemed  to  Phil's  shrinking 
eyes  a  skeleton,  swathed  in  thick  yellow  flesh.  She 
knelt  by  the  baby.  Her  heart  ached  as  she  saw  how 
the  fever  had  ravaged  the  tiny  brown  face.  The 
soft  cheeks  were  thinner,  and  the  dimples  came  slowly 
to  Phil's  loving  cry,  "  Oh,  Rosa  Maria,  it  is  Phil, — 
Philomel,  that  just  wor-ships  you!  Won't  you 
look  at  me,  darling  ?  Won't  you  call  me,  '  Feel ! 
Feel!'?" 

But  the  hot  face  was  hid  against  "  Padre,"  and 
drowsy  lids  veiled  the  bright  eyes. 


290          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

"  Never  min',  leetle  Mees,"  smiled  the  sick  father 
tenderly.  "  She  is  bad-a  now,  yes !  But  the  good 
God  will  make-a  our  Rosa  Maria  soon  well." 

Just  inside  the  door  of  the  kitchen  on  a  bit  of  old 
rug,  Lucia  and  Hugo  proudly  displayed  to  each  other 
their  various  patches  of  red.  Hugo  pointed  to  his 
with  the  end  of  a  large  piece  of  corn  bread  which 
Phil's  keen  eyes  knew  at  once  for  a  part  of  a  gener- 
ous pan  baked  yesterday  in  her  own  kitchen. 

Jo  and  Tony,  impervious  to  measles,  weeded  lettuce 
near  by.  As  Phil  rose  from  her  knees  by  the  baby, 
Tonio,  looking  around,  remarked  grinning,  "  It  was 
nix  on  de  ferry  dis  time,  warn't  it,  Phil?  I  seen 
you  turn  in  at  de  gate,  like  a  lady." 

Shy,  silent  little  Jo  raised  his  face  for  a  welcom- 
ing smile  but,  as  usual,  said  nothing.  Phil,  return- 
ing the  smile,  had  a  thought  that  had  flashed  to  her 
many  times  during  the  summer,  "  Why  is  it  that 
Italians  have  so  much  more  sweetness  and  sunshine 
in  their  faces  than  we !  " 

Though  happy  to  see  her  among  them  once  more, 
neither  young  worker  showed  the  least  inclination 
to  detain  Phil  in  converse,  so  the  girl,  giving  voice 
to  the  first  question  that  entered  her  mind,  inquired, 
"  Where's  Cris  ?  I  thought  that  he  came  every  Sat- 
urday ? " 

"  He  does,  but  not  early  as  dis,"  replied  Tonio 
from  the  lettuce.  "  Cris  don't  come  till  de  sun's 
shinin'  full  in  de  cave,"  he  went  on,  his  tumbled 
dark  head  lifting.  "  Dat  old  hole  dat  we  dug  is  a 
fake,"  he  pronounced,  scowling  toward  it.  "  De 


CONSTANTIA  GETS  EVEN     291 

sides  is  all  soft,  an'  so  leaky  we  dassent  go  inside  any 
more." 

"  And  the  sun  isn't  touching  it  yet,"  complained 
Phil.  "  It's  just  slanting  sidewise  across  it.  But 
those  marigolds,  Tonio,  on  the  bank  all  around  it, — 
the  ones  that  we  planted, —  aren't  they  too  perfectly 
lovely?" 

"  They're  sure  fine !  "  nodded  the  boy ;  then  delib- 
erately turning  his  face  to  the  sun,  he  regarded  that 
orb  through  a  network  of  heavy  black  lashes,  and  re- 
marked with  decision,  "  It'll  be  four  hours  yit  before 
Cris  kin  git  here." 

At  that  instant  Phil  saw  a  familiar  gray  cap  mov- 
ing toward  them  outside  the  leafy,  green  fence.  Her 
gay  laughter  tinkled.  "  Will  it  though,  Mister  smart- 
Aleck  Tony!  Then  who's  that  coming  in  through 
the  gate  ?  " 

"Hully  Gee!"  Tonio  whistled.  "It's  old  Cris, 
right  enough!  Now  what  in  de  blazes  kin  er  hap- 
pened, to  bring  him  home  early  as  dis  ? " 

At  her  first  clear  look  into  his  face  Phil's  heart 
told  her  why  Cris  was  so  early  to-day.  Cris  knew! 

Jo  and  Tonio,  scattering  rapture,  ran  past  her  to 
welcome  their  brother.  Phil  followed ,  reluctant, 
yet  somehow  impelled  to  press  on.  The  blithe  tumult 
had  roused  the  sick  baby.  She  cried  out, —  the 
"  weak,  human  cry  "  of  Phil's  lambkins,  and,  strug- 
gling upward,  her  arms  toward  Cris  lisped,  "  Kiss ! 
Kiss !  "  and  strove  hard  to  dimple. 

The  big  brother  leaned  down  and  took  her.  For 
a  moment  his  cheek  was  hid  deep  in  the  baby's  thick 


292          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

hair.  Phil  crept  closer,  her  eyes  raised  imploringly. 
The  boy  caught  the  look,  and  he  whispered,  "  You 
know,  then  ?  You've  heard  ?  " 

The  girl  could  not  speak.  She  swallowed  hard, 
and  her  bent  head  gave  Cris  the  answer. 

"  I'm  kinder  glad  that  you  know,"  the  low  whisper 
continued.  "  I've  got  to  tell  sister,  and  you  can  help 
me.  Get  her  over  to  the  ferry,  please,  Phil.  I  don't 
want  the  others  to  hear  yet.  I'm  goin'  to  fight  to  the 
death, —  if  they's  any  use  fightin'.  But  I  need  An- 
nunciata.  Get  her  over,  at  the  far  end  of  the  plank, 
—  jest  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Cris.  I'll  go  now,"  said  Phil  breath- 
lessly, and  hurried  indoors. 

Annunciata  was  not  in  the  house.  The  Madre, 
gesticulating,  let  Phil  understand  that  the  girl  had 
gone  out  in  order  to  gather  some  pole-beans  for  din- 
ner. 

Phil  ran  back  into  the  garden.  Among  slim, 
pointed  leaf -tents,  hung  thick  with  pods  of  green  len- 
tils, Annunciata,  singing  in  a  low,  happy  voice,  was 
rapidly  filling  her  bucket. 

As  Phil  neared  the  singer,  Constantia's  voice,  from 
the  embankment  above,  called  shrilly,  "  I  see  all  you 
beggars  down  there  together !  You're  no  better  than 
one  of  them,  too,  Miss  Phil  Merrill.  I  wouldn't  play 
with  you  now.  Just  watch  me  fix  the  whole  lot  of 
you !  I've  begun  it  already !  " 

Phil,  after  a  startled  glance  upward,  turned  away. 
In  a  crisis  like  this,  the  Hopkins  girl  wasn't  worthy  of 
notice. 


CONSTANTIA  GETS  EVEN     293 

"  Come,  'Nunciata,"  Phil  said  gently.  "  Put  the 
old  bucket  down.  Beans  don't  matter.  Cris  has 
something  he  must  tell  you  over  there  at  the  ferry. 
He  says  to  come  quick." 

Annunciata,  without  question  or  comment,  obeyed. 
Her  brother  stood  motionless  at  the  far  end  of  the 
board.  His  lids  were  shut  close,  and  about  his  deli- 
cate mouth  showed  a  circle  of  greenish-blue  white- 
ness. There  was  something  dreadful  in  his  rigid, 
mute  suffering. 

As  the  two  neared  him,  he  opened  dark,  sunken 
eyes.  "  You, —  you  tell  her,  Miss  Phil,"  he  said 
hoarsely.  "  Somehow  I  can't  speak  it." 

Phil  crouched  back  with  her  face  in  her  hands. 
"  Oh,  Cris !  Please  don't  ask  me !  I  can't.  I  just 
can't!" 

Annunciata's  parted  lips  blanched  with  terror. 
"  But  some  one  must  tell  me !  Oh,  Mother  of  God ! 
Don't  keep  me  waiting  like  this!  Have  you  lost 
your  job,  Cristofo  mio?  " 

Cris  gave  a  low,  strangled  cry  meant  for  derision. 
"  Lost  my  job !  That  would  be  somethin'  to  laugh 
at,  if  losin'  my  job  was  all.  I  guess  that's  gone,  too, 
though,  for  I  run  off  without  askin'  the  boss  might  I. 
No, —  the  trouble  is  Ferris,  the  agent  as  begged  us 
to  come  to  this  house.  He  was  at  the  store  early  this 
mornin',  lookin'  me  up.  Ferris  says  —  Oh,  my 
God !  "  the  boy  shuddered.  "  I  can't  speak  the  words. 
I'm  like  Phil,  I  just  can't !  " 

Annunciata  caught  the  name  Ferris.  "  Oh,  I 
think  that  I  know!  He  is  asking  us  now  a  bigger 


294          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

rent,  yes  ?  Is  it  rent  that  is  bringing  us  sorrow,  my 
brother  ?  " 

Cris  shook  his  head.  "  No,  not  rent.  I  offered 
him  that,  and  a  good  one.  He  won't  take  it.  He 
says  that  he  can't.  We  must  clear  out  of  here,  bag 
an'  baggage.  That  man  Hopkins  next  door, —  curse 
him!  —  got  a  legal  injunction  against  us  for  pests! 
We  must  go!  After  all  we  have  worked  for  and 
done, —  the  pond,  and  the  house  and  the  garden, — 
we  are  driven  away  now  like  so  many  cattle.  Ferris 
says  we  ain't  got  a  chanst." 

For  a  moment  Annunciata  stood  silent.  Phil, 
softly  at  first,  began  crying,  her  face  hidden  on  the 
Italian  girl's  breast.  As  the  sobbing  grew  louder, 
the  other  girl  trembled,  and  then  broke  into  hysterical 
tears.  "  It  cannot  be  true,"  she  protested.  "  The 
Virgin  will  not  let  it  be  true ;  she  will  help  us !  Oh, 
poor  Padre, —  poor,  poor  happy  children !  " 

The  tall  boy,  unable  to  witness  this  grief,  turned 
away.  Unseeing,  his  eyes  went  out  over  the  marsh 
lands. 

The  two  weeping  girls  caught  themselves  up  at  his 
sharp  cry.  "  Stop,  you  Hopkins  kid,  you !  Are  you 
crazy  ?  Leave  that  top  log  alone.  Gosh,  it's  startin' ! 
You'll  fall  in  and  be  drowned  when  it  breaks! 
Get  back  while  you  can.  Oh,  you  fool!"  he 
screamed  in  a  frenzy.  "  No  use  runnin'  now ;  it's  too 
late!" 

Cris  crashed  down  through  the  bushes,  and  then, 
with  the  speed  of  a  four-footed  wild  thing,  began 
mounting  the  fast-falling  bank. 


CONSTANTIA  GETS  EVEN     295 

Overhead,  white-frocked  Constantia,  laughing  to 
see  the  log  move,  tossed  her  arms  and  danced  blithely. 
"  I've  done  it,  you  Dagoes !  "  she  exulted.  "  I  said 
I'd  get  even.  Now  I  have !  " 

The  top  log  slipped  downward  in  horrible  silence. 
Those  beneath  bulged  and  pushed  in  their  bedding  of 
clay. 

Cris  sent  a  last  frightened  look  to  the  ferry. 
"  Eun,  Phil,  you  and  sister,"  he  shouted.  "  Run 
quick  for  your  lives;  the  whole  pond  is  comin'. 
Go  up  into  the  orchard.  Keep  runnin'.  Don't 
stop!" 

The  dam  gave  with  a  roar  as  of  cataracts.  The 
first  shock  of  swirling  red  water  caught  Cris  full  in 
the  chest,  lifting  and  hurling  him  backwards. 

As  he  knew  himself  to  be  passing  beneath  the  low- 
hanging  bough  of  the  apple  tree,  he  leaped  up,  caught 
a  small  limb,  and  hung  there. 

On  the  crest  of  the  flood  a  thing  of  drenched  white- 
ness, like  a  big  flower  snapped  short  at  the  stem,  rose, 
eddied,  and  bobbed  in  the  vortex.  Cris'  eyes  never 
left  it.  Flinging  his  long  frame  to  one  side  in  the 
water,  he  managed  to  check  its  mad  rush. 

Constantia,  fighting  desperately,  and  screaming  as 
well  as  she  could  with  her  mouth  full  of  water, 
clutched  and  held  to  his  knees.  Her  weight,  added 
to  his,  tore  the  twig  from  its  branch,  and  both,  inter- 
twined, went  down  on  the  furious  drive. 

First  to  reach  the  two  motionless  bodies  was  Tonio. 
They  had  been  tossed,  beaten,  and  hurtled  through 


296          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

the  wreck  of  the  fence,  far  out  to  the  other  side  of 
the  road  and  the  culvert,  and  beyond  to  the  level 
marsh  lands  that  followed  the  valley  for  miles. 

As  if  in  a  last  spume  of  anger,  the  whirlpool,  in 
crashing  along,  had  thrown  the  two  up  and  aside 
to  the  face  of  a  boulder. 

Cris'  shirt  had  been  torn  nearly  away.  His  slender 
brown  throat  was  stretched  backwards,  and  his  hair, 
closely  flattened,  was  tangled  in  silvery  lichens.  His 
beautiful  face,  smiling,  peaceful,  lay  stark  in  the 
sunlight.  From  a  wet  mat  of  grasses  nearby  gleamed 
the  head  of  the  simpering  Clytie.  Her  brow  was  no 
paler  than  his.  Curled  up  close  against  the  boy's 
breast,  unhurt,  lay  Constantia  Hopkins. 

The  whole  terrified  neighborhood  gathered.  Mr. 
Hopkins,  while  running,  had  the  presence  of  mind 
to  call  back  to  his  chauffeur  that  the  car  would  be 
needed. 

As  the  two  Hopkins,  the  father  and  mother,  closely 
followed  by  the  trained  nurse,  Miss  McCracken, 
splashed  down  through  the  mud,  the  others  already 
assembled, —  Mrs.  Merrill,  Kebecca,  Phil,  and  all  the 
Bertollottis  except  the  Padre  and  Eosa  Maria, —  in- 
stinctively made  way. 

The  great  motor  ploughed  in  through  the  marsh 
growth.  "  Put  them  both  in  the  car,  Walter,"  di- 
rected Mr.  Hopkins.  "  Here,  Miss  McCracken  and 
I  will  help  to  lift  them." 

Mrs.  Hopkins,  her  face  like  a  fury,  stepped  for- 
ward. "  Lift  Constantia,  you  mean,"  she  corrected. 
"  There  is  no  room  for  her  murderer  in  my  house ! 


CONSTANTIA  GETS  EVEN     297 

The  Italians  undermined  our  pond  for  revenge.  It's 
just  like  them.  They  were  always  threatening  Con- 
stantia.  It  will  serve  them  entirely  right  if  this  boy 
has  destroyed  himself." 

"  Walter !  You  heard  what  I  said,"  reiterated 
Mr.  Hopkins ;  then  to  his  wife  he  said  sternly,  "  It  is 
my  house,  Harriet,  please  remember;  and  whatever 
the  Italians  have  done,  this  boy  here  has  risked  his 
own  life  in  order  to  save  our  child." 

"  More  than  risked  it,  I  fear,"  said  Miss  Mc- 
Cracken  sadly,  as  she  worked  her  deft  hands  under 
Cristofo's  shoulders.  "  His  spine  must  have  struck 
at  full  length  on  this  rock.  It  is  that,  and  the  way 
his  arms  kept  their  tight  hold  of  Constantia,  that 
has  saved  your  little  girl's  life." 

When  the  Hopkins'  home  was  reached,  the  trained 
nurse  directed  that  Cristofo  should  be  taken  into  her 
room.  After  that,  while  Walter  was  speeding  to  find 
Doctor  Evans,  all  her  skill  and  attention  must  be 
given  to  Constantia. 

When  the  doctor  arrived,  his  verdict  agreed  pre- 
cisely with  that  of  the  nurse.  "  Your  daughter  has 
not  had  a  scratch,"  he  told  Mr.  Hopkins.  "  The  Ital- 
ian boy  saved  her.  She'll  be  spry  as  a  cricket  by 
morning.  But  the  lad, — "  the  speaker's  gray  head 
was  shaken.  "  That  blow  on  his  spine  was  a  terror. 
Well,  we  can't  be  sure  yet.  We  shall  see !  " 

In  the  great  pink  and  gilt  chamber  of  her  parents, 
Constantia,  attired  in  an  exquisite  negligee  of  rose- 
colored  silk,  lay  in  state. 

She  was  "  coming  to  "  rapidly.     Now  and  then  a 


298          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

whiff  of  sal  volatile,  or  a  swift  readjustment  of  hot- 
water  bottles,  were  all  that  was  needed. 

The  two  Hopkins  bent  over  the  bed,  their  eyes  lit- 
erally glued  to  the  delicate  face.  They  watched,  as 
a  chemist  might  watch  some  new,  subtle  experiment, 
for  the  first  tinge  of  blood  in  her  lips. 

It  came  slowly.  Her  eyes  tried  to  open,  at  which 
Mrs.  Hopkins  broke  into  loud  sobs  of  joy.  The  fa- 
ther drew  up  his  shoulders,  and  sent  a  bright  look 
to  the  trained  nurse. 

"What'd  I  tell  you?"  triumphed  the  doctor. 
"  Not  a  scratch !  Only  the  shock  and  the  scare !  " 

"  Thank  God, —  but  oh,  what  a  narrow  escape," 
cried  the  mother.  Looking  around  to  her  husband, 
she  added,  "  It  was  a  good  day's  work,  Jim  Hopkins, 
when  we  managed  to  get  through  that  injunction 
against  the  Italians.  The  beggars, —  the  vermin! 
You  needn't  plead  for  them  a  moment  longer  after 
this!" 

"  I  suppose  you  are  right,"  admitted  the  husband. 
"  They  have  proved  themselves  dangerous  neighbors." 

"  What  makes  you  think,  Hopkins,"  Doctor  Evans 
asked  bluntly,  "  that  the  Italians  broke  down  your 
pond?" 

"  Think !  "  flashed  Mrs.  Hopkins  angrily.  "  Who 
else  could  it  have  been?  They  knew  they  had  to 
go,  and  this  was  their  way  of  getting  even !  " 

From  the  bed  came  a  murmur.  "  Yes,  Mam-ma, 
—  I  got  even.  They're  all  drowned." 

Mrs.  Hopkins  heard  only  the  last  word.  She  hur- 
ried to  her  daughter.  "  No,  my  darling, —  my  pet, 


CONSTANTIA  GETS  EVEN     299 

my  one  treasure, — "  she  cried.  "  You're  not 
drowned.  You're  safe  home  in  Mam-ma's  big  bed. 
Those  dreadful  Italians  tried  to  drown  you,  but  they 
didn't  succeed." 

Constantia  struggled  to  sit  upright.  Mrs.  Hop- 
kins put  a  loving  arms  at  her  back. 

"  Are  you  able  to  tell  mother  yet  ?  "  she  suggested, 
with  a  glance  at  her  husband,  "  just  how  the  Italians 
broke  the  dam.  Papa  and  I  should  know  at  once." 

"  The  Italians !  "  echoed  Constantia.  "  It  wasn't 
any  Italians.  It  was  me !  I've  been  working  at  that 
top  log  all  summer.  I  said  I  would  drown  the  whole 
lot,  and  Phil  Merrill  too,  'cause  she  won't  play  with 
me.  I  have  done  it  all  right !  Aren't  you  glad  that 
I've  done  it,  Mam-ma  ?  " 

As  the  vibrant  young  voice  died  away,  the  big 
room,  so  peaceful  a  moment  before,  seemed  to  fill  with 
a  curious  silence.  Miss  McCracken's  eyes  turned  to 
the  window.  Doctor  Evans,  nervously  clearing  his 
throat,  pulled  out  his  watch  and  pretended  to  look 
at  the  time.  Mrs.  Hopkins  was  speechless,  but  her 
husband,  breaking  the  void  with  a  short,  angry  laugh, 
cried  out  to  the  doctor,  "  Well,  Evans,  this  puts  the 
shoe  on  the  other  foot,  doesn't  it  ?  Guess  I'd  better 
be  seeing  what  can  be  done  for  the  boy." 


FINALE 

Cris,  after  a  long,  dreary  fight  with  an  illness  that 
threatened  his  bruised  spine,  began  a  slow  recovery. 
His  convalescence  was  not  in  the  flower-bright  cot- 
tage, but  here  in  the  guest-room  of  the  Hopkins' 
great  home. 

The  brown  brothers  and  sisters,  as  well  as  the 
Madre,  came  and  went  at  their  will.  They  were 
happy,  and  more  than  contented,  even  though  the 
beautiful  pond  and  a  large  part  of  the  garden  had 
been  washed  quite  away;  for  the  good,  kind  Mr. 
Hopkins  had  promised  that  the  moment  autumn  drew 
from  the  cottage  its  mantle  of  verdure,  a  new  mod- 
ern house  would  be  built,  a  permanent  dwelling 
which  no  Ferris  would  ever  come  near. 

Mr.  Bertollotti,  now  almost  fat  in  his  fully  re- 
stored health,  has  been  asked  to  take  charge  of  the 
Hopkins'  big  grounds  as  head  gardener. 

"  When  those  youngsters  of  yours  are  not  at  school, 
Bertolotti,"  Mr.  Hopkins  had  said,  "  they'll  be 
given  good  wages  to  help  you.  Such  workers  are  rare 
in  this  land." 

Ma  Comfort,  her  feud  with  Mis'  Hopkins  forgot- 
ten, came  every  day  to  see  Cris.  "  Don't  talk  to  me 
any  more  of  your  Bible  St.  Christofer,"  Ma  had  cried. 
"  Why,  my  lad, —  compared  to  what  you  has  done, 


FINALE  301 

that  old  saint  ain't  no  more  than  a  swimmin'  tad- 
pole!" 

The  good  cheer  she  brought  with  her,  the  laughter, 
the  quaint,  homely  discourse,  soon  drew  the  whole 
household  to  listen. 

Pa  came  too,  but  only  at  dusk,  and  invariably  for 
a  few  moments  only.  Laddie,  on  such  visits  was  al- 
ways at  heel,  and,  needless  to  say,  Laddie's  conduct 
in  the  sick  room  was  that  of  a  gentleman. 

Once,  when  the  old  sailorman  had  left  Cris,  the 
boy,  staring  out  into  vanishing  twiKght,  made  a  soft, 
spoken  compact  with  good.  "  Jest  because  there's  a 
man  in  this  America  like  Pa  Giddings,"  Cris  said, 
"  it's  up  to  me,  sure,  to  try  to  be  like  him." 

Each  and  all  learned,  of  course,  to  love  gentle 
Annunciata.  Kow,  out  of  sheer  gratitude  she  was 
making  for  her  loved  friend,  Mis'  Hopkins,  the  big- 
gest and  most  wonderful  piece  of  filet  her  skilful 
hands  had  ever  attempted. 

Mr.  Hopkins  and  also  Constantia,  for  some  rea- 
sons known  to  themselves,  had  taken  a  special  fancy 
to  shy,  willing  Lucia,  and  if  Mrs.  Hopkins  had  not 
prevented,  most  of  Constantia's  new  clothes  would 
have  decked  Lucia's  small  body. 

As  for  Rosa  Maria, —  the  whole  house  went  down 
on  its  knees.  She  became  so  petted  and  spoiled  that 
one  day  the  Madre,  regarding  the  mite  with  some- 
thing approaching  resentment,  said  to  the  husband, 
near  at  hand,  "  Rosa  Maria  no  longer  can  be  called 
our  bambino,.  Since  the  pink  coral  necklace  and  the 
earrings  the  kind  Mrs.  Hopkins  has  given,  why,  the 


302          SUNSHINE  BEGGARS 

child  puts  on  airs  even  to  me,  her  own  mother !  She 
will  let  no  one  kiss  her  at  all,  until  paid  first  with 
dulces.  It  is  not  to  be  borne !  " 

"  Truly  so,  Flora  mia"  smiled  the  other  and,  like 
her,  spoke  in  their  beloved  "  Italiano."  "  But  what 
is  to  be  done?  All  caress  her,  and  yield  to  her 
wishes." 

For  answer  the  wife  went  up  closer.  One  arm 
stole  about  his  plump  neck.  "  Just  this,  my  Enrico," 
she  murmured,  "  it  has  been  in  my  heart  all  day 
long.  Much  is  given, —  much  joy  has  the  good  Fa- 
ther brought  us, —  and  yet  one  thing  more  is  the 
small  house  in  Bible  Road  needing." 

Now  Enrico  knew.  The  dark  cheeks  were  pressed 
close  together.  "  A  'bambino,3'  he  whispered,  "  that 
dearest  of  all  gifts  from  God,  another  bambino." 


THE   END 


NON-REFERT 

i-U 

cQ 


3WVAD-Q3S 


The  Most  Lovable  Heroine  in  Modern  Fiction 


TRUTH  DEXTER 


By  SIDNEY  McCALL 
Author  of  "  The  Breath  of  the  Gods  " 

New  Illustrated  Edition,  with  8  full- page  pictures  by  Alice 

Barber  Stephens  and  title-page  vignette  by 

Jessie  Willcox  Smith 

12rao.     Decorated  cloth,  $1.35  net 

A  novel  of  united  North  and  South  of  rare  power  and 
absorbing  interest.  It  is  but  fair  to  say  that  not  one  of 
the  novels  which  appeared  last  year  on  either  side  of  the 
Atlantic  (including  those  from  the  pen  of  the  most  girled 
writers)  was  superior  to  this  in  artistic  quality,  dramatic 
power,  and  human  interest  combined.  We  do  not  hope  to 
see  it  surpassed,  even  if  equalled. — Philadelphia  Telegraph. 

Exceptionally  clever  and  brilliant,  it  has  what  are  rarely 
found  with  these  dazzling  qualities, —  delicacy  and  genuine 
sentiment. — Brooklyn  Times. 

A  fine,  sweet  and  strong  American  romance. — New  York 
World. 

I  don't  know  how  to  praise  it  enough.  I  can't  recall  any 
novel  which  has  interested  me  so  absorbingly  for  years. 
It  is  a  matchless  book !  —  Louise  Chandler  Moulton. 

The  author  at  once  takes  place  among  the  foremost 
novelists  of  the  day.  —  Boston  Transcript. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHER* 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


BS 


Ijllj 


